My
knees gave way as I took in the sight, so that I had to stumble to
a chair and slump down. The thing had obviously been a human being,
though its identity was not easy to establish at first, since it was
without clothes and had most of its hair hacked and torn from the
scalp in a very crude way. It was of a deep ivory color, and I knew
that it must have been Marceline. The shoeprint on the back made the
thing seem all the more hellish. I could not even picture the strange,
loathsome tragedy which must have taken place while I slept in the room
below. When I raised my hand to wipe my dripping forehead I saw that
my fingers were sticky with blood. I shuddered, then realized that it
must have come from the knob of the door which the unknown murderer had
forced shut behind him as he left. He had taken his weapon with him, it
seemed, for no instrument of death was visible here. "As I studied the floor I saw that a line of sticky footprints like the
one on the body led away from the horror to the door. There was another
blood-trail, too, and of a less easily explainable kind; a broadish,
continuous line, as if marking the path of some huge snake. At first
I concluded it must be due to something the murderer had dragged
after him. Then, noting the way some of the footprints seemed to be
superimposed on it, I was forced to believe that it had been there when
the murderer left. But what crawling entity could have been in that
room with the victim and her assassin, leaving before the killer when
the deed was done? As I asked myself this question, I thought I heard
fresh bursts of that faint, distant wailing. "Finally, rousing myself from a lethargy of horror, I got on my feet
again and began following the footprints. Who the murderer was, I
could not even faintly guess, nor could I try to explain the absence
of the servants. I vaguely felt that I ought to go up to Marsh's attic
quarters, but before I had fully formulated the idea I saw that the
bloody trail was indeed taking me there. Was he himself the murderer? Had he gone mad under the strain of the morbid situation and suddenly
run amok? "In the attic corridor the trail became faint, the prints almost
ceasing as they merged with the dark carpet. I could still, however,
discern the strange single path of the entity which had gone first, and
this led straight to the closed door of Marsh's studio, disappearing
beneath it at a point about halfway from side to side. Evidently it had
crossed the threshold at a time when the door was wide open. *       *       *       *       *

"Sick at heart, I tried the knob and found the door unlocked. Opening
it, I paused in the waning north light to see what fresh nightmare
might be waiting me. There was certainly something human on the floor,
and I reached for the switch to turn on the chandelier. "But as the light flashed up, my gaze left the floor and its
horror--that was Marsh, poor devil!--to fix itself frantically and
incredulously upon the living thing that cowered and stared in the open
doorway leading to Marsh's bedroom. It was a tousled, wild-eyed thing,
crusted with the dried blood and carrying in its hand a wicked machete
which had been one of the ornaments of the studio wall. Yet even in
that awful moment I recognized it as one whom I had thought more than
a thousand miles away. It was my own boy Denis--or the maddened wreck
which had once been Denis. "The sight of me seemed to bring back a trifle of sanity--or at least
of memory--in the poor boy. He straightened up and began to toss his
head about as if trying to shake free from some enveloping influence. I could not speak a word, but moved my lips in an effort to get back
my voice. My eyes wandered for a moment to the figure on the floor in
front of the heavily draped easel--the figure toward which the strange
blood-trail led, and which seemed to be tangled in the coils of some
dark, ropy object. The shifting of my glance apparently produced some
impression in the twisted brain of the boy, for suddenly he began to
mutter in a hoarse whisper, the purport of which I was soon able to
catch. "'I had to exterminate her--she was the devil!--the summit of
high-priestess of all evil--the spawn of the pit--Marsh knew, and tried
to warn me. Good old Frank! I didn't kill him, though I was ready to
before I realized. But I went down there and killed her--then that
cursed hair----'

"I listened in horror as Denis choked, paused, and began again. "'You didn't know--her letters got queer and I knew she was with
Marsh. Then she nearly stopped writing. He never mentioned her--I felt
something was wrong, and thought I ought to come back and find out. Couldn't tell you--your manner would have given it away. Wanted to
surprise them. Got here about noon today--came in a cab and sent the
house-servants all off--let the field hands alone, for their cabins are
all out of earshot. Told McCabe to get me some things in Cape Girardeau
and not bother to come back till tomorrow. Had all the niggers take the
old car and let Mary drive them to Bend Village for a vacation--told
'em we were all going on some sort of outing and wouldn't need help. Said they'd better stay all night with Uncle Scip's cousin, who keeps
that nigger boarding-house.' "Denis was getting very coherent now, and I strained my ears to grasp
every word. Again I thought I heard that wild, far-off wail, but the
story had first place for the present. "'Saw you sleeping in the parlor, and took a chance you wouldn't wake
up. Then went upstairs on the quiet to hunt up Marsh and--that woman!' "The boy shuddered as he avoided pronouncing Marceline's name. At
the same time I saw his eyes dilate in unison with a bursting of the
distant crying, whose vague familiarity had now become very great. "'She was not in her room, so I went up to the studio. Door was shut,
and I could hear voices inside. Didn't knock--just burst in and found
her posing for the picture. Nude, but with that hellish hair all draped
around her. And making all sorts of sheep's-eyes at Marsh. He had the
easel turned half away from the door, so I couldn't see the picture. Both of them were pretty well jolted when I showed up, and Marsh
dropped his brush. I was in a rage and told him he'd have to show me
the portrait, but he got calmer every minute--told me it wasn't quite
done, but would be in a day or two--said I could see it then--she
hadn't seen it. "'But that didn't go with me. I stepped up, and he dropped a velvet
curtain over the thing before I could see it. He was ready to fight
before letting me see it, but that--that--she--stepped up and sided
with me. Said we ought to see it. Frank got horribly worked up, and
gave me a punch when I tried to get at the curtain. I punched back and
seemed to have knocked him out. Then I was almost knocked out myself by
the shriek that--that creature--gave. She'd drawn aside the hangings
herself, and had caught a look at what Marsh had been painting.