"I was awakened by a terrible
scream. Evelyn's bed was empty. It was pitch dark out in the hall. But
I could hear some sort of struggle going on downstairs. A bumping and
threshing around--"

Suddenly he jerked up his head. "What was that? I thought I heard
footsteps out in the front hall." Before Norman could say anything he
went on, "Oh, it's just my nerves. They've been acting up ever since. "Well, I picked up something--a vase--and went downstairs. About that
time the sounds stopped. I switched on the lights and went through all
the rooms. In the sewing room I found Evelyn stretched unconscious on
the floor with some ghastly bruises beginning to show around her neck
and mouth. Beside her lay the phone--we have it there because Evelyn
has so many occasions to use it. I nearly went frantic. I called a
doctor and the police." Norman knew now what must have happened. "When Evelyn regained consciousness, she was able to tell us about
it, although she was terribly shaken up. It seems the phone had rung. She went downstairs in the dark without waking me. Just as she was
picking up the phone, a man jumped out of the corner and attacked
her. She fought him off--oh, it drives me mad to think of it!--but he
over-powered her and choked her unconscious." Norman listened with grim satisfaction. "Thank heavens I came downstairs when I did! That must have been what
frightened him off. The doctor found that, except for bruises, there
weren't any other injuries. Even the doctor was shocked at those
bruises, though. He said he had never seen any quite like them. "The police think that after the man got in the house he called Central
and asked them to ring this phone--pretending he thought the bell was
out of order or something--in order to lure someone downstairs. They
were puzzled as to how he got inside, though, for all the windows and
doors were shut fast. Probably I forgot to lock the front door when we
went to bed--one of my pieces of unforgivable carelessness! "The police think that he was a vicious burglar, but I believe he must
have been a madman besides. Because there was a silver plate on the
floor, and two of our silver forks jammed together strangely, and other
odds and ends. And he must have been playing the phonograph in the
sewing room, because it was open and the turntable was going and on the
floor was one of Evelyn's speech records, smashed to bits." *       *       *       *       *

Yes, the picture was all very clear now. What Norman had forgotten to
take into consideration was the ever-present possibility of reaction,
if magic miscarried--"like the kick of a gun," or, better, like the
breech of a gun blowing up. When he had severed the wire at Bayport,
the thwarted Agency of Death had instantly struck back at the sender. And afterward Evelyn Sawtelle had invented the obvious story. One thing bothered him. If the police should trace that phone call in
an effort to prove their own theory, they would find it had been placed
by Norman Saylor, at Bayport. But at the worst that would only convict
him of a peculiar lie. For the present he would say nothing about it. "It's all my fault," Sawtelle was repeating mournfully. Norman
remembered that Sawtelle always assumed that he was guilty whenever
anything hurt or merely upset Evelyn. "I should have awakened! _I_
should have been the one to go down to the phone. When I think of that
delicate creature feeling her way through the dark, and lurking just
ahead of her that--Oh, and the department! I tell you I'm going out of
my mind. Poor Evelyn has been in such a pitifully frightened state ever
since, you wouldn't believe it!" "Good," thought Norman. "If she's really frightened, she may be easier
to deal with." The idea of pity never occurred to him. Moreover, if
what he had been told about the lodgment of captive souls were true,
then Tansy's soul had suffered equally with that of Evelyn Sawtelle
here in this very house on Sunday night. "I tell you, I haven't slept a wink," Sawtelle was saying. "If Mrs.
Gunnison hadn't been kind enough to spend a couple of hours with her
yesterday morning, I don't know how I'd have managed. Even then she was
too frightened to let me stir.... My God!... Evelyn!" But it was really impossible to identify the agonized scream, except
that it had come from the upper part of the house. Crying out, "I knew
I heard footsteps! He's come back!" Sawtelle ran full tilt out of
the study. Norman was just behind him, suddenly conscious of a very
different fear. It was confirmed by a glance through the living-room
window at his empty car. He beat Sawtelle up the stairs and was the first to reach the bedroom
door. He stopped. Sawtelle, almost gibbering with anxiety and guilt,
ran into him. It was not at all what Norman expected. The pink silk coverlet clutched around her, Evelyn Sawtelle had
retreated to the side of the bed nearest the wall. Her teeth were
chattering, and her face was a dirty white. Beside the bed stood Tansy. For a moment Norman felt a great, sudden
hope. Then he saw her eyes, and the hope shot away with sickening
swiftness. She was not wearing the veil. In that heavy make-up, with
those rouged cheeks and thickly carmined lips, she looked like some
indecently daubed statue, impossibly grotesque against that background
of ridiculously feminine pink silk hangings. But a hungry statue. Sawtelle scrambled past him, shouting, "What's happened? What's
happened?" He saw Tansy. "I didn't know you were here. When did you
come in?" Then, "You frightened her!" The statue spoke, and its quiet accents hushed him. "Oh, no, I didn't frighten her. Did I, Evelyn?" Evelyn Sawtelle was staring at Tansy in abject, wide-eyed terror, and
her jaw was still shaking. But when she spoke, it was to say, "No,
Tansy didn't ... frighten me. We were talking together ... and then ... I ... I thought I heard a noise." "Just a noise, dear?" Sawtelle said, somewhat taken aback. "Yes ... like footsteps ... very quiet footsteps in the hall." She did
not take her eyes off Tansy, who nodded once when she had finished. Norman accompanied Sawtelle on a futile search of the top floor. When
they came back, Evelyn was alone. "Tansy's gone out to the car," she told Norman weakly. "I'm sure I just
imagined those footsteps." But her eyes were still full of fear when he left her, with Sawtelle
fussing about straightening the coverlet and shaking out the pillows. As he went down the stairs he became aware of a hard object in his
pocket, and he remembered the lucite egg. He had not placed it. But, as
things stood now, he must first know more. Tansy was sitting in the car, staring ahead. He could see that the body
was still dominated by its one emotion. He did have to ask a question. "She does not have my soul," were the words. "I questioned her at
length. As a final and certain test I embraced her. That was when she
screamed. She is very much afraid of the dead." "What did she tell you?"