CHAPTER VI. OF THE SACRED ERB, BY FERGUS YUME. THIS SLEEVERVOX RECORDING IS IN THE PUBLIC DOMAIN. STARTLING DISCOVERY. Odor is one of the strongest aids which memory can have, and a chance whiff of a particular scent we will recall to the most lethargic brain. Circumstances both trivial and important of long-forgotten years. But the well-known fragrance of the two bros usually brings funerals to mind, since that flower is so extensively woven into burial wreaths and mortuary crosses. It was strange indeed that it should conjure into an idle thinking mind the vision of a heathen festival. There were many people crowding the corridor, so that it was impossible for the young men to tell who wore the flowers which gave forth the magical scent. For magical it was in its effect. They might adorn a man's buttonhole or a woman's bodice. He could not tell, since the evening dress of both sexes were veiled by voluminous dominoes. But as he leaned against the wall the vision became clearer and more insistent. His body was in London, in Alexander Mansions, at a mast ball, as he well knew, but the scent of the two bros had drawn his spirit across the leaks of trackless sea to the uttermost parts of the earth. The present vanished, and he beheld the past.  These reared themselves from vast platforms of cyclopedian architecture overgrown with tropical vegetation and strewn with bleaching bones. And in the soft radiance of the southern moon, preless beheld a kneeling crowd of bronze-hued worshippers, tattooed and painted, adoring the weird stone gods. An old priest, his face and body streaked with white pigment, murmured strange names over a rude stone altar, whereon blazed a clear fire. He evoked terrible deities incarnate in the giant idols. Kananaro, Gotamura, Marapizzi, Ariki, and cast upon the flames the yellow leaves of a sacred herb.  And the sickly scent of the two bros grew powerful.  Finally, the fragrance which loaded the heavy air, whether of Easter Island or London, preless could not tell, passed away, and with that odor passed the vision. It could only have lasted a minute or so, but was so terribly vivid that preless could scarcely believe that his surroundings were real when the material asserted its sway. He had closed his eyes to behold the vision, which the scent had invoked, and opened them again with a bewildered expression, to see the pushing, laughing, chattering throng of guests. Although a commonplace young man, and contemptuous as a rule of the unseen, he felt that the recollection had not been brought back for nothing.  And Mona also, preless remembered faithfully what Sheporth had told him, had been in a state of catalepsy like the priest of the vision. And after all, although he chose to call what he had seen mentally a vision, it was simply a vivid recollection of what he and Dr. Horace had beheld a year or two before, but what had a fetish worship in Easter Island to do with a murder in Kent? That was a question which preless could not answer. There was no time to invent possible explanations or to reason out answers. Being in Rome, the momentary dreamer had to do as the Romans did, and as preless was at a ball, he was compelled out of courtesy to his hostess and host to enjoy himself. He did not have far to go for an adventure, as a lady in a blue domino, and with a fringed mask to disguise her voice, stole to his side and engaged him in airy conversation.  But on this a special night, Mrs. Rover's flat was Liberty Hall with a vengeance. For men and women, trusting in masks and dominoes for concealment, flirted and danced and drank and laughed with one another in a most outrageous manner. There was no need of introductions or of reticence or of timidity in that Eden's bower of flowers and ferns faces were hidden, but souls were revealed. The blue domino proved to be a most charming companion, full of fun and flirtation and a delightful dancer. Preless found her extremely entertaining and she appeared to reciprocate the feeling. After a particularly perfect waltz and an inspiring glass of champagne, his lordship did his best to lure the unknown into a corner where she might unmask. But the lady shook her head, laughingly, and ran off to the ballroom with another man, who stature of a life-guardsman had caught her roving eyes. Preless solaced himself with another glass of wine and looked about him for another female of man. It was then that a chuckle at his elbow made him turn. "'Now then, now then,' said the gentleman who had chuckled, "'let me come to refresh myself.' He spoke irritably and pushed past Preless in a hurry. Waiter, waiter, a glass of champagne! I thought you were a teetotaler, uncle,' whispered Preless. Mr. Haken betrayed by his chuckle and wheeled suddenly and spilt the wine he was about to sip. To his nephew's surprise he was trembling, and his stammering voice betrayed his agitation. "'Who—who are you?' Preless whispered his name. "'You needn't be alarmed,' he added. "'I won't tell Aunt Sophia that you are accepting her enemy's hospitality.' Haken drank off his wine in one deep gulp and sat down the glass, with his hand still shaking. "'I would rather you did not tell her,' he said in a low tone. "'Sophia dislikes Mrs. Rover and would be annoyed if she knew I was here. "'I have come on business.' "'What? Business at a ball?' "'Invent a more credible story, uncle.' "'It is true,' insisted Haken, becoming more composed. "'I have to see a political man from the continent about alone. "'He doesn't want it to be known that I am meeting him, so we thought that this would be the best place to ensure secrecy.' "'Not a word of this, Preless.' "'Of course not,' replied the young man, puzzled to know why Haken should take the trouble to explain. "'But don't mention my name. I also wish to be unknown.' "'What are you doing here?' asked Haken abruptly. "'I came to the ball, and also I have to see Ned Shepworth, who—' "'Shepworth?' gasped Haken, backing nervously. "'Oh, yes, friend of our charming hostess, friend of mine also. Is he here?' "'No. He would not come to a ball when his promised wife is in prison.' "'Of course not. Very creditable of him, to be sure,' muttered Haken, and took another glass of wine with a whispered apology. "'I am teetotal as a rule, you know, but society always tries my nerves, and I need sustenance. I wish the man I have to meet here had chosen my office in the city. But it wouldn't have done. There would be trouble were it known that he was in London. "'What is the time, Prilis?' "'Don't mention my name, or I'll mention yours,' said Prilis impatiently, and drew out his watch. "'It is eleven o'clock.' "'Haken nodded. I must meet my man, eleven-fifteen is the time. As to mentioning my name, what does that matter? I came here without my mask. Never thought of putting it on. Prilis nodded in his turn. I saw you when Rover received you. "'Then hold your tongue. Hold your tongue. Not a word to Sophia, mind? Not a word,' Prilis promised gravely, and Mr. Haken, drawing a long breath, it would seem to be of relief, at having extracted the promise, vanished into the many-hued crowd with his usual chuckle. While the millionaire gave vent to that chuckle, there did not seem to be much chance of his concealing his identity. Lord Prilis looked after him somewhat puzzled. He could quite understand why Haken did not want his wife to know of his presence in Alexander Mansions. But it was difficult to account for the old man's agitation and quite unnecessary explanations. As a rule, Haken was extremely reticent, and on such an important matter as a secret meeting with a continental diplomatist, would be much more so.  However, Prilis simply shrugged his shoulders and did not deem the incident worth remembering. Why should not Simon Haken enjoy himself in this way if he liked, and turn Mrs. Rover's ballroom into an office, wherein to meet his foreign clients? All the same, and Prilis gave this a passing thought. It was strange that the chance meeting with one who knew him should so upset him. And it was still stranger that, if Mr. Haken wished to preserve his incognito, he should have arrived unmasked. Having lost both his uncle and his charming blue domino, Prilis took a tour through the rooms in search of further adventures. He could only afford a few minutes, since he had to call upon Shepworth at eleven o'clock, and it was already that hour as he had told Haken. Still a few minutes more or less would not matter, and Prilis wished to see if he could spy Mrs. Dolly Rover in order to renew his acquaintance with her, and to compliment her on the success of her ball. And it undoubtedly was a success. For everyone seemed highly amused, and the laughter and small talk went on incessantly. Many people were dancing to the music of a gaily, uniformed Hungarian band. And many more were ensconed in flirtation corners, making the best of the hour which would elapse before everyone unmasked for supper. Prilis therefore wandered leisurely throughout the two flats, exchanging a few chafing words with the different women who addressed him and looking for the tall form of his hostess. Alas, there were many tall women who looked as imperial and ungraceful as Mrs. Rover, and Prilis felt like Alibaba's robber when he examined Morgiana's chalk marks on the various doors. He therefore began, by way of some diversion, to admire the costumes of the women which showed themselves more or less plainly from under the flowing dominoes of silk. In fact, the heat of the night and of the rooms was so great that many ladies loosened the strings and buttons of their dominoes, and permitted their frocks to be plainly seen. They would have removed their mask also in some cases, so stifling was the perfumed air, but the rule of the ball stopped them from doing so. Still, as many revealed the gowns they were wearing, it was probable that some would pay for their flotatious sins when the supper-hour and recognition came. The young man had an eye for color, but knew very little about millinery, so if anyone later had asked him to describe the various dresses he would have been puzzled. But one woman wore a dress which attracted him from its oddity. It was a flowing gown of white silk, and from him to waste the skirt was adorned with triple lines at intervals of narrow red velvet. The spaces between the triple lines were equal, and the lines of red velvet themselves ran apparently entirely around the skirt. The effect was bizarre, and rather fascinating. But what made preless note the dress so exactly was the wonderful ubiquity of the lady who wore it. He went into the ballroom of the right-hand flat. And there she was dancing. He strolled into the left-hand ballroom and found her flirting in a corner with another partner. Then he stumbled across her in the corridor, and later discovered her at the buffet sipping champagne. Her domino was green, as was her mask, and she seemed to be in several places at once. Preless was amused at her activity, and at the way in which she seemed to permanate the entire place. She was certainly getting all the enjoyment she could out of the ball. He spoke to her once, but she made no reply, and disappeared before he could address her again. Rather annoyed that she would not respond, preless yawn. And discovering that it was half past eleven, decided to descend and look up Shepworth. The stairs were crowded, not only with people leaving and arriving, but with flirting couples who were cooling themselves in the pure air which ascended from the main entrance of the mansions. These exposulated loudly and sometimes silently, if irritated gestures went for anything, with those who pushed past them to go up or down. Preless came in for his share of blame. As he cautiously steered his way to the second floor. Here there were but few people, as the guests kept to the third floor stairs and to those leading to the fourth. A look at the left-hand door as he came down showed preless that it was number forty, so he pressed the button of the electric bell and waited for the door to be opened. As he did so, and while he was leaning against the wall, still wearing his mask and domino, the ubiquitous lady in the green domino with the oddly trimmed frock descended the stairs alone. She cast a swift look at him as he passed, and it was not until she vanished below that preless became aware that the scent of tube rose was again in his nostrils. He had half a mind to run after her, and, assuming the privilege of a masked ball, asked her if she was wearing such a flower. But in his idle way he did not think it worthwhile, and remained where he was. No one came to answer the bell, so preless judged that Shepworth's servants were out, perhaps fraternizing with Mrs. Rover's domestics at the ball overhead. He rang again, however, believing that Shepworth must be within and awake by this time. As again the door did not open, preless raised his hand to the knocker. To his surprise the door yielded a trifle, and then he discovered that it was slightly ajar, but so little so that he had believed it to be closed. For the moment there was no one on the landing, so he stepped into Shepworth's flat without closing the door after him. I say, Ned, Ned, are you in? cried the young man, pausing in the corridor, which was similar to that overhead in Mrs. Rover's flat. I say, Ned, it is me, it is preless. And he slipped off his mask. There was still no reply, and then preless smelt stronger than ever that strange odor which had evoked the Easter island vision. His thoughts again flew back to the heathen festival, and he walked along the corridor wondering why the scent should follow him here. On the left hand side he peeped into a drawing room, but it was empty. The door opposite was surely that of the dining room. It was closed, but preless opened it and walked in to look for his friend. Shepworth was in the room sure enough, but preless uttered an irrepressible cry when his amazed eyes fell on the barrister. In a deep, saddle-back chair placed between the fireplace and the near window sat Shepworth, bolt upright with his hands resting upon his knees, in the hieratic attitude of an Egyptian statue. His intently calm face was pearly white, his brown eyes were fixed in a glassy, unnatural stare, and he appeared as rigid and stiff and unbending as though hewn out of granite. There was no disorder about his clothing. The evening dress he wore was as accurate and neat as though he had got ready to go to the ball overhead. Preless stared at him, tongue-tied and motionless with astonishment. Then his eyes mechanically wandered round the room. They fell immediately upon another figure seated on the far side of the dining-table, with outstretched arms sprawling nervously across the cloth.  Drawn as by a lodestone, Preless stole forward with staring eyes and saw, with a sudden shudder, that the man at the table was stone-dead. He had been stabbed ruthlessly in the back under the left shoulder blade. Everything in the room was in absolute order. Only one man, dead, sat at the table, sprawling half across it, and the other man insensible was stiffly seated in the armchair, and the whole apartment was permeated with the scent which suggested Easter Island, suggested also that other murder at Lannwyn Grange. CHAPTER VII An unsteady footstep roused Lord Preless from his momentary stupor, and he wheeled automatically to see a little man, masked and wearing a black silk domino, swaying to and fro at the open dining-room door, but the sight of the two apparently dead men and the presence of their possible murderer seemed to sober the newcomer in a single moment. Before Preless could spring forward, he gasped and fled. Almost immediately his voice, tense with terror, was heard shouting the news of his discovery to the revelers on the stairs. Preless cursed under his mustache and ran into the passage to close the outer door, which he now remembered he had foolishly left a jar. Possibly the little man, being intoxicated, had stumbled up the stairs on his way to the ball, and finding the door open had so far mistaken his way as to stagger in. Preless wondered if the stranger was Haken or Rover, both small of stature, but he recollected that he had never seen either drunk. As drunk or sober, Rover or Haken would never mistake Shepworth's flat for the one overhead. At the outer door Preless swiftly changed his mind. He saw that the murder of the red-headed man was similar in all respects to that of Sir Oliver Lennwin. Then Miss Chint had been given time to recover, and so had been accused of the crime, although she protested that she had been in a state of catalepsy induced by the Synod's smoke. Shepworth likewise was insensible, and judging from the odor in the dining room from the same cause, it would be better decided the young man rapidly that Shepworth should be seen by a score of witnesses thus insensible, for then it could be proved that so helpless a man could not have struck the blow. Thus when a crowd of startled people came pouring down the staircase and into the flat on the second floor, Preless threw open the door widely and admitted them with a hurried explanation. There has been a terrible crime committed, he declared, leading the way to the dining room. I came here a few minutes ago to find Mr. Shepworth, the owner of the flat, insensible as you see, and this other man stoned dead. He has been stabbed. Several voices echoed the word, and one woman gave a fate scream. The passage was crowded to the very door of the dining room, and as many as could were looking over one another's shoulders to view the sinister scene. And like a ball from one person to another was tossed in various tones the ominous word, Murder! Who stabbed the man? Ask a medium-sized masqueror in a blue domino who had placed himself directly in front of the mob, blocking the doorway. He addressed Preless, and his manner was offensively suspicious. I do not know, disclaimed that young gentleman quietly, for it seemed absurd indeed that he should be suspected. I came here to see Mr. Shepworth only ten minutes ago. How did you enter? The tone of question was still offensive. The outer door was slightly ajar. Explained the other suavely. I pushed it open, as I had an appointment with my friend. I declined to defend myself further, as you seem to suspect me. Send for the police! Send for the police! said many voices, and a rough male voice was heard recommending that Preless, only the voice called him the murderer, should not be allowed to escape. What nonsense, cried the young man indignantly, raising his voice on hearing so direct an accusation. I have nothing to do with the matter. I am Lord Preless, if anyone here knows me. The utterance of a title had a magical effect, and several people began to unmask. Amongst these was the aggressive masqueror who had questioned Preless. You can explain to the police, said this man sharply. Certainly, Captain Jadby. You know me? I saw you in court today, and also in Jettie's restaurant, Burn Street. Jadby nodded, but did not relax his suspicious manner. It is strange that you should be here, he said, marching into the room. Not at all, rejoined Preless hotly. I had an appointment to see Mr. Shepworth, and came only a few minutes ago. Jadby took no notice of this speech, but lifted the shaggy red head of the dead man. Apparently he knew who he was, for after a single glance he dropped the heavy head again, and wheeled round with an amazed face. Steve Agstone, he gasped. The missing witness. Preless also startled, backed against the wall with outstretched hands and open mouth. In a flash he saw how dangerous was the position of the barrister, and indeed many confused voices were muttering as to the guilt of Shepworth. Captain Jadby, letting his eyes fall on the dead man, made himself spokesman for all. Shepworth murdered him to win the case, he said, nodding. I ask your pardon, Lord Preless, for suspecting you. I would rather you continue to do so, cried Preless angrily. It is absurd to think that Shepworth killed this man. Look at him. He pointed to the rigid form in the armchair. He is incapable of raising a hand. Miss Chint was also incapable, sneered the captain, yet she is innocent, starved Preless fiercely. She no more killed her uncle than did Shepworth this witness. Everyone was listening eagerly with open eyes and ears to the altercation. When it is impossible to say how long it would have continued but for the entry of the police. Two constables pushed their way through the crowd and forthwith. When they had taken in the situation, began to clear the place. The crowd of pleasure seekers, now unmasked for the most part, were driven outside. Some fled down the stairs, anxious to get away from the scene of the tragedy, while others returned to the rover's flat. But the fact of the murder ruined the ball. It broke up like Macbeth's famous banquet. With most admired disorder, and in ten minutes the rooms were deserted. Everyone ran away as though from the plague, and Mr. Rover, looking like a frightened rabbit, came down to make inquiries. Is Shepworth dead? He asked, tremulously, of a stalwart policeman whom he found guarding the closed door of Number 40. Someone says that Shepworth is dead, and my wife has fainted. The doctor is with Mr. Shepworth now, said the constable gruffly. I don't know what's the matter with him, and it ain't my duty to say anything, sir.  How very, very dreadful all this is. Who is the other man, the dead man? He handed the officer half a sovereign as to gain a reply. Very unbent. They do say, sir, as the corpse is Steve Agstone, who is the missing witness in the Lanwen murder case. How wicked! How very wicked! But if Mr. Shepworth is dead, he ain't, sir. The constable slipped the gold into his pocket. He's in a faint of sorts, I believe. And they do say as he killed Steve Agstone, so as to save the young lady he's defending. Now I can't tell you more, sir, and I've said too much already. Just go home and keep quiet, sir. The police will look after this matter here. Rover still wringing his useless hands and muttering to himself like the weak-brained little man he was, where at least climbed the stairs to his deserted ballrooms. As he ascended, two women and a man came down, white-faced and shaken. They tried to enter number forty, but the constable stretched forth a brawny arm to prevent entrance. But we must come in, said the man, differentially. We are Mr. Shepworth's servants. I am his valet. This lady is the cook, and Yonder is the housemaid. We have a right to enter. You can't until the doctor and the inspector have done with your master, said the constable, stow-lidly. And why aren't you in bed? The cook, a large, red-faced lady, gaily dressed, replied. Mr. Shepworth allowed us to join Mrs. Rover's servants at the masked ball. Then none of you were in this flat when the murder was committed? questioned the policeman, doing a little detective business on his own account. Oh, lord, no! cried the housemaid timidly. We've been upstairs since nine o'clock helping Mrs. Rover's servants with the party. Do let us in, Mr. Policeman. Stay where you are until orders come, commanded the officer sternly. And the trio sat disconsonantly on the stairs. With the instinct of self-preservation, they had thoroughly explained their absence from the scene of the crime, and now felt perfectly safe. Meanwhile, in the dining room a young medical man, who had fortunately been present at the ball, was reviving Shepworth with brandy anemonia. The windows had been thrown open, and the fresh air was filling the room so rapidly that scarcely a trace of the two bros' fragrance remained. Preilis, having laid aside his mask and domino, was standing near the door, with his hands in his pockets, watching a man in uniform, who examined the dead along with the official doctor whom the police had called in. The first individual was Inspector Burge, a keen-looking sharp-eyed man with a clean-shaven face and closely clipped gray hair, and an abrupt red-taped manner. Captain Jadby was not present, having departed with the rest of the two curious onlookers. But Lord Preilis remained, as he had been the first to discover the crime, and Burge wished to hear his account of it. Already the inspector's notebook was in his hand to note down the result of the official doctor's examination. There was a dead silence in the room, faintly broken by the distant roll of vehicular traffic, with the occasional hoot of a motor horn. The bell of a near church boomed out midnight so unexpectedly that Preilis jumped. He might well be excused for doing so, as his nerves were considerably shaken. Twelve o'clock, said Burge crisply. When did you discover the crime, my lord? At half past eleven, replied Preilis, shivering. Good heavens! Is it only half an hour since then? It seems like years. We were on the spot in ten minutes, said Burge, with official satisfaction, and haven't been long in getting things ship-shaked. Now that these ladies and gentlemen have gone, we can look into matters, doctor. He glanced at the young man attending Shepworth. Is your patient reviving? A trifle, answered the other, rising. Help me to place him near the window in a draft. It is a long faint, said the inspector, helping to wheel the armchair to the open window. It is not a faint at all. The man is in a cataleptic state, induced by the administration of some drug. Induced by the odor of a burning herb, you mean, said Preilis, looking at the rigid face of Shepworth, which was as expressionless as that of the dead man at the table. What's that? questioned the inspector, turning his head. Preilis waved his hand. I'll explain later, and after I have seen my friend, Dr. Horace. Horace, Horace, the medical man who was examining the corpse, looked up at this remark. I know him slightly. A great traveler, isn't he? Yes, answered Preilis quickly. He traveled with me to a little-known part of the world called Easter Island. Lucky that he did so, and that I was with him. Between us, we may be able to solve the mystery of this cataleptic business. You know that it is catalepsy induced by some odor? Of course I do. I have seen a man in that state before. And Preilis pointed to the rigid form of Shepworth. Where? asked Burge, looking at him with keen eyes, somewhat puzzled, on Easter Island. The inspector would have asked further questions when the elder doctor rose from examining Agstone's body and stretched himself. Well, Thornton, he asked curtly. The man is dead right enough, said Thornton with a shrug. That stab under the left shoulder blade reached the heart at one blow. I don't see the weapon with which it was committed, the crime, I mean. We haven't searched the flat yet, rejoined Burge brusquely. And if you remember, Thornton, the weapon which killed Sir Oliver Lanwin was not found either. What has this case to do with Sir Oliver Lanwin's death? Burge looks surprised. Don't you read the papers, doctor? There is a murder case on at the New Bailey which resembles this in every particular. Sir Oliver Lanwin was stabbed seated at his desk and under the left shoulder blade. His niece, who is accused, says that she is innocent and was in a cataleptic state, just as this counsel of hers is. What we see here, used Burge, will go a long way towards helping her to prove her innocence. Mr. Sheporth need not have got rid of Agstone in this way. He didn't, cried Preilis sharply. I'll stake my existence that Mr. Sheporth is perfectly innocent. My lord, we know that the prosecution hoped to convict Miss Chint on Agstone's evidence. It was necessary that the defense should keep him out of the way. And here is the man, very forcibly removed, and in the rooms of the young gentleman who is not only helping to defend Miss Chint, but who is her a financed husband. It looks strange, Preilis pointed to Sheporth, who now showed signs of reviving. I say to you, as I said to those people who burst into the flat when the alarm was given, that Sheporth is incapable of lifting a hand. But we don't know how long he has been incapable, said Burge, cunningly. When was Agstone murdered, doctor? Thornton, who was twisting a cigarette, answered promptly enough. I should say, judging from the condition of the temperature of the body, sometime between 10 and 11 o'clock. And can you tell, asked the inspector, turning to the other doctor, how long Mr. Sheporth has been insensible? No, said the young physician promptly. But he'll tell us himself soon he is coming round. Even as he spoke, Sheporth opened his eyes and stared vaguely at those in the room. His gaze wandered in a bewildered manner from the inspector to Preilis and from Preilis to the two doctors. Finally he looked meditatively at the dead body, which was stretched right across the blue cloth of the dining table, with its glassy eyes staring at the ceiling. A shutter shook the barrister's frame, and as though moved by wires, he sprang stiffly to his feet. Preilis, Preilis, he cried, and his voice grew stronger as his strength came back, as did his color and senses. Look, look! Isn't it the same as in Grange Library? Agstone is dead. And I have been in a trance. You know then, asked Burge swiftly, that the dead man is Agstone? Yes, I have seen him many times at the Grange. But how did he come here? Who murdered him? And his eyes questioned those present, dumbly. That is what we wish to ask you, said the inspector. Sheporth passed his hand across his forehead, which was now moist with perspiration. The police, he murmured, and Agstone dead. Will you place me in the dock beside Mona? He asked Burge passionately. Preilis sprang to his side and caught him by the hand. Ned, Ned, he urged, pull yourself together, and tell us how Agstone came to be murdered in this room. I can't tell you, cried Sheporth, wrenching away his hand. I can tell you no more than Mona could. She was in a trance and saw nothing, only coming out of it to find the dead beside her. I was in a trance and saw, ah, he broke off, and his wild eyes went roving round the room. Where is the woman? What woman? asked Burge, suddenly, and kept his eyes on Sheporth's face with a look of severe scrutiny. The woman who came in masked and cloaked. She came in, Agstone admitted her. She waved the bronze cup before me, and then I, I, oh, what does it all mean? He asked, breaking down, and with every reason, considering what he had undergone. Preilis shook him gently by the shoulders. I am beside you, Ned. I am looking after you. Only tell us everything you remember. Sheporth stared straight before him, and then, as though a spring had been touched, he began to speak swiftly and coherently. I was sitting reading in the drawing room when I heard three heavy blows struck on the wall of this room. As my servants were all upstairs, assisting at the ball, I wondered who was in my flat and came out to inquire. The door of this room was closed, and I opened it to find a thick white smoke smelling sweetly and sickly, curling from a bronze cup placed on the table. The fumes choked me, and I staggered instinctively to the open window. Before I could reach it, I fell. Senseless, interpolated Thornton Keenley. No, Sheporth turned irritably. How could I be senseless when I heard and saw everything? Up to a point, that is. What did you see, questioned Burge, eagerly? I could move neither hand nor foot, nor could I call out. Went on Sheporth slowly, and I lay on the floor, half propped up against that chair. Then I saw, he shuddered. A large, hairy hand pushed aside the tablecloth, and shortly a man crawled from underneath. It was Agstone, for I recognized him without difficulty. He growled in a pleased manner and lifted me into this chair. Then he went out and remained absent for some time. When he returned, a tall woman was with him, wearing a mask and a green domino. Taking the bronze cup from which the white smoke still poured, she waved it under my nose. My senses left me, and I knew no more until I woke to find you all in my room. And Agstone is dead, ended the barrister, trembling. Agstone is dead. An Agstone, said Burge significantly, is the chief witness for the prosecution. End of chapter 7 Chapter 8 of The Sacred Herb by Fergus Hume This leave Vox recording is in the public domain. A private explanation. Sheporth made no reply to the insinuation contained in the remark of the inspector.  Prelus watched him closely, recognizing the mental confusion, then laid his hand on the poor fellow's arm. You had better come and lie down, he said gently, and glanced at Thornton. Certainly, certainly, answered that gentleman briskly, and in reply to the unspoken query of Prelus. A few hours sleep will cure Mr. Sheporth completely. Can I stay with my friend? Demanded Prelus turning to Burge. The inspector nodded absently, as he was evidently following some train of thought. Will it be necessary to make a further examination of this? He inquired, looking at the dead body and at Thornton. No, no, not at present. When it has been removed to the dead house, I will see to a further examination. I have seen the body before rigor mortis has set in, so that is all that is necessary. The man has been stabbed some time between 10 and 11, and he is as dead as a coffin nail. Thornton drew on his gloves. Good night. Good night, replied the inspector. Allow me to see you to the door. And he conducted both the medical men out of the room, leaving Prelus alone with his still-dazed friend. But Shepporth was not so dazed as he pretended to be. For the moment the door was closed, he sprang to his feet. Dory, dory, he gasped, swaying. The knife, look for the knife! Then he dropped back again in the chair, too weak to stand. What do you mean? Demanded Prelus sharply and much puzzled. Shepporth clutched him. I did not tell all, he stuttered hurriedly. It would not have done to tell all. Listen, Dory, Agstone came back again, alone, alone, I tell you, before he brought the lady. I was still conscious, although unable to move in any way. He held the knife in his hand, the jade-handled paper-cutter with which Sir Oliver was murdered. I had it, as you know. It was concealed in my desk, in my study. Agstone must have found it. Agstone must have used it. No, Agstone is dead, I forgot, but someone must have used it to kill Agstone. Oh, my head, my head! He grasped his hair and rocked to and fro. Then with an effort, look for the knife, under the table perhaps, under the—before he could end the sentence, Prelus, realizing its importance, sprang forward and lifted a corner of the table-cloth, which trailed on the ground. At the same instant Inspector Burge appeared again unexpectedly. His keen eyes immediately fixed themselves on Prelus. What are you doing, my lord? He asked imperatively. Making a search retorted the other bluffly. He did not know what else to say and hoped that his ready and natural explanation would lull any newly aroused suspicions entertained by the officer. It did to a certain extent. You must allow us to do that, my lord. I think you had better take Mr. Shepworth to his bed. And we may as well cover this thing until it is taken away, added Burge, gathering up the folds of the table-cloth to lay them over the stark dead creature staring at the ceiling. Shepworth moved at the same moment as Burge. But Prelus, guessing that he wished to interfere, held him down with an iron grasp. When the lifted cloth exposed the bare legs of the table, both the young men caught sight of an object lying underneath. Burge, stepping back, aspired it also. With his trained faculty of instant observation, and stooped to pick it up, the jade-handled paper-cutter laid just where the feet of the dead man had rested before the body had been shifted onto the table. The wonder was that it had not been discovered before, but then it had been concealed by the drooping cloth. The weapon with which the crime has been committed, murmured Burge, in a complacent tone. After stabbing his victim, the assailant must have allowed the knife to fall under the table, or perhaps through it there intentionally. A jade-handle. Hmm. It looks like a dagger, too. An eastern dagger. Where have I seen it? Where? And the inspector fell into a brown study, turning and twisting the paper-cutter slowly. Preilis pressed Shepworth's shoulder to keep him quiet, and cleared his throat to answer.  Burge glanced up in amazement. Why, so it is, he remarked, wonderingly, the very dagger. I remember now that I read the description given of this in the newspaper report of the inquest at Tide. Hmm. So that is how I fancied that I had seen it before. He balanced the knife on the palm of his hand. A very good piece of description it must have been to so enable me to recognize this, but you, he glanced suspiciously at Preilis. How did you know? The young man shrugged his square shoulders. That is easily explained. He replied suavely. I went to hear the case at the new Bailey today. As I thought that my friend here, he again pressed Shepworth's shoulder significantly, was to speak in defense of Miss Chint. At the court I heard the knife described. It is quite simple, you see. I wonder how it comes to be here? Mused Burge nodding, acquiescence, to his elusive explanation, odd isn't it. Not at all, rejoined Preilis easily. The assassin of Sir Oliver Lanwin brought it here to kill Agstone. But Miss Chint is in prison. Rebundstraided the inspector. She could not have. She never did in any case interrupted Shepworth faintly, but rousing himself sufficiently to defend his promised wife. She is innocent. It is natural that you should say so. Remarked Burge with polite skepticism, then added significantly. Did you expect Agstone? Shepworth's eyebrows went up weirdly. I? No. Why should I have expected a witness for the prosecution to call upon me? I have told you all that happened until I entirely lost my senses. The first I saw of Agstone was when he crawled from under that table. Then the smoke had rendered me, not unconscious but unable to speak or move. Can this smoke you mentioned do that? I speak from experience, Mr. Inspector, and Miss Chint, if you remember, told the same story. Oh, I see that the two crimes are connected, said Burge hastily. The circumstances are the same as regards this mysterious smoke and its curious power. But you say, he added, turning to Prilis, you say, my lord, that the assassin of Sir Oliver brought the knife to kill Agstone. Yet we see, he waved his hands toward the corpse, that Agstone himself is a victim. Not so, but he may have brought the knife for all that. Then you imply that Agstone murdered his master? I imply nothing, retorted the young man restively, but the knife could not have got here unless someone brought it, and as it was missing from the Lannow and Grange Library, only the murderer who used it could have possessed it. Moreover, Prilis pressed Shepard's shoulder to make him particularly note the next sentence. Moreover, Mr. Shepard saw the knife in Agstone's hand. Burge wheeled swiftly towards the barrister. You did not say that. Not when the doctors and you were in the room, said Shepard, languidly. I am only beginning to recover my senses, remember? But I told Lord Prilis that Agstone, after he left this room, turned and looked in to see if I was insensible, I suppose, before he brought in the lady. Then he had the knife in his hand. And what do you infer? asked Burge pointedly. There can only be one inference drawn, said Prilis, before Shepard could speak. Agstone must have had the knife in his pocket. Then Agstone must have murdered Sir Oliver, said Burge triumphantly. Burge shrugged his shoulders and staggered to his feet. I feel too dizzy to give an opinion, he said, leaning heavily on his friend. We know that Agstone was devoted to Sir Oliver. Why should he have murdered him? Besides, he accuses Miss Chint. Naturally, cried the inspector, who followed eagerly the scent of the red herring which Prilis had drawn across the trail. If Agstone is guilty himself, he naturally would throw the blame on another person. And if he was possessed of the knife, he must be guilty. It was missed from the Grange Library and reappears here. The masked lady might have brought it, suggested Shepworth.  Mr. Shepworth saw the knife in Agstone's hand before he became insensible. You can swear to that? He asked the barrister. Yes, said Shepworth truthfully. I can swear to that. And you can swear that the masked woman killed Agstone? No, I can't say that. When she waved the bronze cup before me, I became entirely insensible. The inspector looked more knowing than ever. Of course, said he in a complacent way, she did not wish you to see her stabbing Agstone. But why should she have stabbed him? We can't say until we know the lady. Did you recognize her? No, she was masked and cloaked. A green domino, I think you said. And a green mask, supplemented Shepworth. She must have been at Mrs. Rover's ball, news Burge. Not necessarily, interpolated pre-list, but as many people masked and cloaked were ascending and descending the stairs, she may have taken advantage of the ball to get into this flat unobserved. Quite so, assented the inspector. But who admitted her? Agstone must have done that, said Shepworth. Probably, but who admitted Agstone? The barrister shook his head. I can't say, he replied in a tired tone. I heard a noise. Three heavy blows struck in this room. As I told you, when seated in the drawing room, I did not know that anyone was in the flat. What time did your servants go to assist at the ball? Shortly before nine o'clock when the dinner was over. You had dinner then? Oh yes, I came from the court, worn out, and slept for a long time. I then had a light dinner. Agstone could not have been at the table then. Under it, I mean. I think not, said the barrister, slowly. It is not a large table, as you see. I would either have heard him, or I should have felt him with my feet. Your servants may have left the outer door ajar. Shepworth nodded. Perhaps you can question them, but after dining I returned to the drawing room before nine o'clock. And you did not re-enter this room until you came to see what the three heavy blows meant? No, I did not. They must have been struck to make you enter the room. I think so, Mr. Inspector. Agstone wished to be smothered with the smoke. That was why the bronze cup was smoking on the table. Where is the bronze cup? Burge looked about him. I can't say. I last saw it when the lady waved it under my nose. The inspector meditated. It's a queer case altogether, he mused, and undoubtedly it is connected with the land-wind murder, he mused again, and then looked up abruptly. I believe that this second murder will exonerate Miss Chint, he said quietly. I hope so, rejoined Shepworth, walking towards the door heavily, and still leaning on Prilis' shoulder. If she is condemned for murdering her uncle, I should certainly be arrested and tried for murdering Agstone. I had every reason to kill him, since on his evidence hangs the fate of Miss Chint. You may as well speak in the past tense, Mr. Shepworth, seeing that the man is dead. For my part, I believe that Agstone murdered his master and was ready to throw the blame on Miss Chint so as to save his own skin. Only the assassin of Sir Oliver could have been possessed of the knife. Am I to consider myself arrested? demanded the barrister. No, rejoined Burge promptly, and held open the door. But of course we must keep an eye on you, he added smiling ambiguously. Shepworth nodded languidly, and went out with his friend. Come into my study, Prilis, he said almost in a whisper, that knife! Shush! Prilis gripped the barrister's arm hard. He quite understood what Shepworth wished to do. Not so loud. But he need not have been so cautious, for the door of the dining-room had been closed by Burge, who was now probably searching the clothes of the dead man for more evidence. The two young men went into the study, which was at the end of the passage, and there found that the desk had been forced open. That is, all the three drawers on each side, six in all, in a most dexterous manner. Agstone had apparently come provided with house-breaking tools, so as to gain possession of the dagger. But how did he know that I had it? asked Shepworth, perplexed. I daresay he was watching through the Grange window, and saw you take it from his chint, suggested Prilis. Shepworth nodded. Let us put the room tidy, he said hurriedly, and closing the door. I don't want the police to fuss about here. The room really was untidy, for in searching for the knife, Agstone had scattered the loose papers lying on the desk all over the carpet. The young men collected these and placed them in order. Then Shepworth closed the drawers of the desk carefully. In a few minutes, after replacing a chair that had been kicked over and smoothing a rug that had been rucked up, the study looked quite in order. Nevertheless, Shepworth stared anxiously at the now innocent-looking desk. I hope the police will not examine it, he said nervously. I don't think so, since you have explained so much, Ned. Their attentions will be confined to the dining-room where in the murder took place. Will you go to bed? No. Shepworth sat at his desk. I don't want this examined. Let us sit here and have some strong coffee. Prilis shook his head. Don't, he advised, better let us steal to your bedroom and say nothing about having been here. If the police examine the desk, you can pretend ignorance and express surprise. On the other hand, if Burge comes in and makes the discovery while we are here, he will naturally demand why we kept silent and inquiries would lead to difficulties. Leave the thing to chance. Shepworth agreed with this reasoning, since it was useless and even dangerous to create difficulties at the present juncture. The two walked silently to the bedroom and hear the barrister stripped to put on his dressing gown. When lying down outside the bed, he placed his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling while Prilis lounged in an arm chair close at hand. Why did you tell Burge about the second entrance of Agstone with the dagger, asked Shepworth suddenly, because he had already seen the dagger rejoin Prilis promptly. It is as well to tell the truth when possible, and just as well that the inspector should think Agstone, who could not now contradict, brought the dagger. You heard what he said yourself about Agstone's possible guilt. Our frankness will probably save Miss Chint, as the murder of Sir Oliver will be attributed to Agstone because he possessed that paper cutter. Shepworth groaned. But if Burge knew that I took it from Mona, then there would be serious trouble. Let things remain as they are, Ned. We know that Miss Chint is innocent, and must save her. But we don't know that Agstone is guilty. He certainly is not, on the reasoning of Burge. No, seeing that we know Agstone did not bring the dagger here, but the man is dead, and if he can be made to act as scapegoat for an innocent woman, so much the better. The barrister sighed. We are environed by difficulties, he murmured, then added significantly and unexpectedly. Jadby called to see me this evening. What? Prilis was startled. I thought that you had quarreled. So we had, so we did, and with this, too, but when I was reading in the drawing room and thinking of my poor girl shut up in prison, I heard a ring at the front door. The servants had gone to the ball, as you know, so I had to open the door myself. Captain Jadby was there, and after a stiff greeting, he asked for an interview. I took him into the drawing room and, one moment, did you close the outer door? Of course. Why do you ask that? I fancy that you might have unconsciously left it open, and that Agstone might then have entered to conceal himself. No, said Shepworth decisively. I am certain that I closed it. With Jadby I went to the drawing room, and there he frankly expressed his regrets that we had quarreled. He wished to make it up and to join forces with me to save poor Mona, because he loves her? Quite so. He makes no secret of the fact that he is madly in love with Mona. Our hand-to-hand fight at Langwyn Grange rose solely from the fact that he would insist upon forcing his attentions on her. She appealed to me as her lover, so I tackled Jadby, and knocked him down. However, he seemed to be sorry that he had behaved like a bounder, so we shook hands and then sat down to consider how we should act with regard to Mona's position. Hmm! Preilis looks skeptical. From the glimpse I caught of Jadby, I should not think he was the sort of man to forgive a punch in the eye, much less the loss of the girl he loves. He might have come here with the intention of trapping you. He might have admitted Agstone. No, replied Shepworth quickly. I was with him all the time. I opened the outer door to admit him, and closed it when he departed. As he was under my eyes while in the flat, he had no chance of admitting Agstone secretly. I don't know how the man managed to enter and conceal himself under that table, but Jadby had nothing to do with it. Moreover, added the barrister decisively, Jadby told me that he was as ignorant as everyone else of Agstone's whereabouts. Oh, a blighter like Jadby would say anything! Shepworth protested. I think we have judged Jadby wrongly.  I don't trust Jadby for one instance. He plays for his own hand. I know he does. He admits that he intends to claim the estate of Sir Oliver, and that he loves Mona, but he swears that he will take no steps until she is set free. Then she can marry me if she chooses. Freeless laughed ironically, and you believe him! He seemed to be an earnest about setting Miss Chint free. Oh, yes, I am sure of that, but he intends to marry her. You may be sure. Jadby is very philanthropic. How does he propose to save Miss Chint? By finding Agstone and sending him out of the kingdom. An Agstone appears shortly after that proposal. Hmm, hmm, hmm. I must have a personal interview with Captain Jadby and ask him. Ask him what? If he has ever visited Easter Island. What on earth do you mean? Demanded Shepworth curiously. But Lord Freeless refused to explain further. End of Chapter 8 Chapter 9 of The Sacred Herb by Fergus Yume Dr. Horace. Next day everyone, from the man in the street to the lady in her drawing room, was talking about the murder at Alexander Mansions. As a rule those in society talk very little about such horrors, but on this occasion people, more or less fashionable, felt that the crime had been committed, so to speak, on their very doorsteps. Mr. Rover's ball had been broken up by the discovery of the crime, and many of the guests, crowding down to Shepworth's flat, had seen a murdered man for the first time in their frivolous lives. No wonder the tragedy made a sensation. Moreover, the second crime in London was connected. No one exactly knew how, with the first crime at Landwin Grange hide. Mr. Oliver had been murdered by his niece, who was now being tried for the offense. The victim had been a baronet, and the prisoner was a well-known figure in the social world. Now the missing witness, upon whose evidence was supposed to hinge the condemnation or acquittal of Miss Chint, had been violently done away with. And Henned Gossop, in spite of appearances, the barrister to whom the flat belonged must have killed the man, so that damaging evidence might be finally suppressed. Thus the two crimes had much to do with society as a whole, and the newspaper placards informed the lower orders of a tragedy in high life. Stump orators in Hyde Park chose the placards and the moment to talk of the decay of the upper classes, and of the need of a revolution to sweep away tyrants born in the social purple. Finally there was another thing which interested fashionable folk. Many guests at the masked ball had been robbed of valuable jewelry, and the police were entirely at a loss to trace the thieves. Undoubtedly what Mr. Simon Haken had prophesied, jokingly to his host, had come cruelly true. Swell mobsmen and light-fingered ladies had taken advantage of the use of mass at the ball to mingle with the illegitimate guests, and appropriate gems and gold of great value. Bracelets, earrings, chains, brooches, and even rings, many of these had vanished, and scarcely a single woman had escaped the rapacity of the unknown thieves. This in itself was sufficient to make Mrs. Dolly Rover's entertainment notorious, and that a terrible murder should cap the climax of such roguery was almost too much for belief. Next day the journal sold like hotcakes, and the one topic of conversation with high and low had to do with this astounding criminality. Lord Prilis returned to his rooms in Half Moon Street, just as the dawn broke over an astonished and indignant mayfair, and threw himself on his bed to recuperate. Tough as he was with travel and adventure, he needed sleep very badly after the exciting events of the dark hours.  Finally an idler who took comparatively little interest in life, and certainly none in the doings of other people, he found himself committed, through friendship, to a strenuous career. Ever since Lady Sophia's visit on the previous morning he had gradually become entangled in other lives, and until the crooked ways of these had been made straight he saw no chance of reverting to his happy-go-lucky existence. Prilis, having a high ideal of friendship, resolved to help Shepworth, and through him Miss Mona Chint, with all the brainpower and physical power and social power at his command. And the opportunity of doing so was not unpleasing to an active-minded man, who had hitherto fritted away his intelligence in butterfly pursuits. He woke at noon to receive a telegram, which his man brought in, with an apology for disturbing him. It proved to be from Shepworth, and contained the amazing news that the Barrister had been arrested for the murder. Considering that Inspector Burge had assured Shepworth, and in Prilis's presence, that there was no chance of any suspicion being cast upon him in any way, the young man had to read the wire twice or thrice before he could fully grasp its sinister significance. It seemed absurd. Dozens of people, including Burge and two medical men, had seen the insensible form of the accused man, and were content at the time that he could not raise a hand, much less execute a crime which needed clear-headedness and strength, and it was the more ridiculous to arrest Shepworth, because the Barrister had given a plain account of what had happened, so far as he remembered, which was similar in most respects to what had taken place at Hyde. Of course, Prilis recollected the way in which he and Ned had concealed the true story of the knife. But it was impossible that Shepworth, now quite in possession of his wits, should have told an unnecessary truth. If he had, Prilis believed that he would be arrested also, as an accessory after the fact. The thought made him uncomfortable, until he brushed it away.  But it was necessary to learn what had taken place, and also to bail Ned out, so that they might work together to elucidate the mystery. This would be difficult considering the charge was one of murder. But Prilis indulged in a cold bath to freshen his physical powers, and after dressing rapidly, took a handsome back to Alexander Mansions. Here he was confronted at the door by the same burly police constable who had prevented Shepworth's servants from re-entering their master's flat some hours before. He treated Lord Prilis in the same way. �You can't come in, my lord, inspector's orders. I wish to see Mr. Shepworth,� argued Prilis vexedly. �It's against orders, my lord. Is he within? Yes, my lord, but he isn't allowed to see anyone. Will you take a note in for me? No, my lord, I can't do that. Can I see Inspector Burge? He is at the police station, my lord. Prilis stamped with vexation at the obstacles placed in his way. He did his best to argue his official machine into something resembling reasonable humanity, but without success. Shepworth, he learned, was to be taken to prison later in the day, and the constable hinted that, since the charge was so serious, there would be no chance of the barrister being let out on bail. There was no other course open but to see Inspector Burge. So Prilis drove to the Kensington police station, only to find that the man he wished to see had gone to Scotland Yard, presumably about the case. Apparently there was nothing to be done at the moment in connection with this new trouble. So Prilis was half-minded to repair to the new Bailey and listen to the further progress of the charge against Miss Chint. Now that Agstone was dead, he did not think that she would be convicted. Also the repetition of the circumstances of the hide crime in Alexander Mansions would assuredly strengthen her position, since the jury would now be compelled to believe her story of the stupefying smoke which formerly had been regarded as absurd. And it was when the thought of the smoke entered his mind that Prilis recollected that Dr. Horace lived in the neighborhood. He therefore walked to Redland Square, an ask at number twenty for his farmer fellow traveler. Chance stood the young man's friend, for the doctor was within and saw him at once. This is an unexpected pleasure, Prilis, said the doctor, beaming. I thought you were in the West Indies. I returned only a few days ago. Are you busy? My friend, I am always busy. And Horace indicated a case of beetles and butterflies with which he was dealing when his guest entered. The room was a large one, with two broad windows looking out onto the quiet square, but all available space was taken up with records of the doctor's travels. The floor was carpeted with wild bee skins, for Horace was a noted hunter. The walls were decorated with Polynesian war clubs, with Zulu ashigais, with red skin wampum belts and beaded moccasins. Also there were Japanese gods, Chinese jars of grotesquely decorated porcelain, Hindu swords, Persian tiles reft from mosques, and African canoe paddles rudely carved. As Horace never allowed any servant to meddle with his treasures, the room was extremely untidy and dusty, and generally neglected, with the exception of a gigantic dining table of mahogany, and two chairs there was no civilized furniture, yet the place was so crammed with barbaric curiosities that preless could scarcely find a clear place to stand in. Finally, he stumbled through a narrow passage of Egyptian mummies and gigantic maury idols to an uncomfortable cane chair near the window. Here he sat down and looked at his host with some disgust.  I am perfectly comfortable, said Horace, clearing a place on the table to sit on. This is my home. I live here. You camp here, I think.  Huh, groaned the doctor, feeling a German pipe with strong tobacco. You shouldn't come here in a Bond Street kit. Well, what is it? Are you longing to be on the trail again? I am on a sort of trail, certainly, admitted preless slowly and inspecting the ash of his cigar. A man-hunt. Ah, your eyes light up at that, you bloodthirsty old pagan. A man-hunt, repeated Horace meditatively, and in London, slow business. Well, I don't know, Horace. It is one requiring a great deal of subtlety. I have come for your assistance. Huh, said the doctor again, and nodded. I'm with you. Preless reflected for a few moments before beginning an explanation of his errand. He did not know how much to tell and how much to withhold. Horace saw his hesitation and ascribed it to the right cause. I must know everything, preless, he said quickly. Else I do not assist. I have no notion of working in the dark and failing through ignorance. You can read my thoughts as usual, I see, commented the visitor. Some more of that clairvoyant business, I expect. Well I have a case to lay before you which will tax your occult powers to the yet most. Fire away, said Horace, and placing his hands on the table, rocked to and fro, looking absurdly like a monkey. The missing link, they called him in the wiles, and certainly the name was deserved. Horace was a small man with a long body, short legs, and lengthy arms. Very powerfully built and very shaggy in appearance. Preless looked at the doctor's large head covered with tangled red hair, at his beard and mustache of the same hue, untrimmed and untidy, concealing nearly all his flat face, and at his big horn-rimmed spectacles, which hid the brightest and keenest of blue eyes. He wore an au pair of flannel trousers and a still older flannel shirt, the sleeves of which were turned up over two hairy wrists encircled with matatabelle wire bracelets. To complete his barbaric looks, his large ears, furry as those of a fawn, were adorned with gold rings. A more quaint or a more extraordinary figure was not to be met with, outside a freak museum, and Dr. Horace should have been exhibited in one, if only on account of the beautifully executed tattooing, which Preless could see on his sunburned arms and on his chest, through the unbuttoned shirt. No one would have taken this man-monkey to be a clever and learned scholar with a heart of gold and a fund of knowledge second to none. Preless knew and esteemed him, and had fought with him, for the doctor was obstinate, and beside him in the naked lands at the back of beyond, when both held their lives in their hands. All the same, being fastidious. He sincerely wished that when the doctor returned to civilization, he would leave behind him in the wilderness his uncouth manners and shabby dress and general appearance of being a prehistoric man of Lady Sophia's favorite stone age.  Don't keep me waiting. I have lots to do and can't waste time. You have lots to do in the way of dress, I think. Come and have a Turkish bath and visit the nearest barber. Then I can take you to my tailor to be clothed properly, and Horace interrupted, characteristically by throwing his pipe at the young man. It was deftly fielded and returned. Do you remember Easter Island? Asked Preless when the doctor was again smoking. Then in reply to a consenting grunt, I see you do. And the sacred herb, eh? Horace scowled. How do you come into the matter? He growled. Into what matter, queried the other. Oliver Landwin's murder. It is in all the papers. Quite so, but why should my remark about the sacred herb make you think that I referred to Landwin's murder? Is there any need of an explanation? Asked Horace coolly. If you didn't guess, as I did, that the sacred herb was used to make that smoke, why do you talk of the matter at all? Then you think that the herb, course, course, growled Horace, beginning to rock again. Landwin haunted the South Seas. I knew him there. He must have got the herb from Easter Island, as it is the only place it grows in. When I read the girl's yarn of the smoke, I guessed straight off that Landwin had been trying to induce a trance with the burning herb. Do you think that Ms. Chint murdered him? No, the library was filled with the smoke of the herb. Anyone, not used to the fumes, would go down like a shot, as she did. Then you believe Ms. Chint's story? Asked Preilis eagerly. Horace nodded. She could not have made up such a clever yarn. Then why in heaven's name, questioned the young man, rising, did you not volunteer your evidence to save her? Will it save her? Assuredly, everyone regards her story of being stupefied with the smoke as absurd. If you tell what we saw on Easter Island in front of the statues, tell it yourself. I intend to. I am going to the court now, and you, said Preilis, with emphasis, you are coming with me. Horace knocked the ashes out of his pipe. Why should I? He demanded, with a stolid air. That's a long story, retorted Preilis restlessly. I can give you 10 minutes. Don't talk through your hat. Knowing his man, the visitor did not waste time, but bluntly detailed how he came to be drawn into the Landwin murder case. But he naturally suppressed his feelings for the beautiful prisoner and put down his interest with some emphasis to pure friendship for Shepworth. On reaching the end of the hide portion of the story, he paused to draw breath. Is that all? Asked Horace grimly. The first part only, repied Preilis promptly and narrated the events of the previous night from the time he went to Mrs. Rover's ball mask to the time he left the Kensington police station to call upon his listener. During this latter part of the history, Dr. Horace became restless and wondered about his untidy room, stumbling over obstacles and softly swearing with a wonderful command of language. He appeared to be inattentive, but in reality had not lost a single word. When Preilis stopped, he came to a halt before the young men. I'll go with you to the court, he declared. The first thing to do is to save the girl. After that, we can consider how to get Shepworth out of his difficulty. He is innocent, of course, of the Preilis, trying to read the rugged face of his new ally. Never said he wasn't, grumbled the doctor, then reflected for a few moments, raking his long beard without spread fingers. See here, he burst out finally. Will you allow me to engineer this business? I shall only be too glad. Are you going to use occult methods? I don't need to. I have my own ideas, having read the newspapers. Then you think that Agstone murdered Lanwin? No more than I think Shepworth murdered Agstone. On your own, showing your barrister friend brought the knife to the flat. And it is on the false evidence of the knife, which you and Shepworth supplied, that Inspector Burge seems to judge Agstone.  You are not polite, Horace. Was I ever polite, demanded the others scornfully. No, to do you justice, you are always consistently rude. Then why expect the impossible, retorted Horace, and again stumbled about the crowded room, swearing softly. Went again, abreast of Preilis, who was sorely puzzled by this strange conduct, the doctor thrust out a large hairy paw. Shake, he said brusquely. Preilis did so promptly and inquired, why? Because you are giving me pleasure in allowing me to help you. His friend looked at the odd creature perplexedly. I don't understand what you mean, he declared, frowning. Nevermind, returned Horace with a chuckle. When it is necessary for you to understand, I'll straighten out things. Then you have a theory? I have more than that, I have certain knowledge. Of what, in Heaven's name? High cock-a-lorum, snip-snap snorum, was the jocular and enigmatic reply, come to my bedroom and we can chatter while I dress. Well, said Preilis, as he saundered after his friend, I am glad that you are not going in that rig out. It isn't the fifth of November.  All right, come to a toy shop and help me to choose one. Dr. Horace began to laugh, why can't you talk sense? He growled, I shall do so if you will set the example. Very good, I have some of the sacred herb here. Shall I take it to the new Bailey and give judge and jury and counsel a practical illustration of how Ms. Chint and Sheppworth went into trances? You can if you like, by the way, did you give any portion of that herbal way, Horace? The doctor who was plunging his hairy face in water gurgled and grumbled, but made no reply. Preilis was niddled, why can't you be plain with me, confound you? All right, Horace began to dry his face vigorously. I don't believe that Ms. Chint is guilty or that Sheppworth killed Agstone.  Oh, retorted Horace mockingly, you want to hear something new like an Athene of St. Paul's period. Very good. Do you know why I take so deep an interest in this case? No, I don't, unless it is to help me and Ned. I don't care a red sin about you and Ned, but I care a trifle about Agstone, poor devil. Preilis set up straight and stared. In Heaven's name, why? Because, said Dr. Horace slowly, and looking at Preilis's puzzled face in the glass, because Steve Agstone is my brother. End of chapter nine. Chapter 10 of The Sacred Herb by Fergus Yume. This lever vox recording is in the public domain. The verdict. Here was a surprise indeed. Preilis knew that Dr. Horace had worked his way up from a humble position and laid no claims to being of gentle blood, but he had never referred to the existence of a single relative, and the young man had always believed him to be alone in the world. Now it seemed that Agstone was his brother, and when Preilis recollected that Agstone was the same her suit, red-haired, uncouth animal in appearance, it flashed across his mind that the brothers were twins. The extraordinary thing was that he had not noted the close resemblance before, since he had seen Agstone dead and Horace alive within the last few hours, but the idea of connecting a common sailor with an imminent scientific man had never entered his mind. In the cab on the way to the new Bailey, Horace gruffly gave his companion a few facts to substantiate his statement, but Preilis observed that he said as little as he could. My full name is Horace Agstone, explained the doctor bluntly, but as I got on in life and rose in the world, I dropped the last and kept to the first. Steve is my elder brother by one year, and we are the sons of a Suffolk laborer. I had the brains of the family, and in one way and another managed to cultivate those same brains with the result. No very great one, you see. Steve went to sea, and we did not meet for years and years. When he returned to England with old Lanwin, he went down to Suffolk to look up the family. Our parents were dead and buried, but Steve learned my name and address from the vicar. He came to look me up, but as we did not hit it off very well, we considered it best to live our lives apart as formerly. That's all. Preilis threw his cigarette out of the cab and stared at the horse in a meditative way. Strange that you should be connected with this case also, he remarked dreamily. The doctor grew red and looked fierce. What the devil do you mean by that? I have nothing to do with the case. Your brother, I have nothing to do with my brother. He and I were born of the same mother, but beyond that we are, I mean, we were seeing he is dead, nothing to one another.  No one can connect Steve Agstone with Dr. Horace, save the vicar of Burfield in Suffolk. Unless you betray me.   I don't intend to betray you, said Preilis coldly, but flushing all over his freckled face. You can be brother to Satan for all I care. Moreover, I have given confidence for confidence. If I know about your relation to Agstone, you know about the knife's evidence which I and Sheporth suppressed.  You and I are chums of the wild, old son, and those of that breed don't go back on one another. He released Preilis's knee and leaned back thoughtfully. Of course, it was a shock for me to learn of Agstone's death. Didn't you see it in the morning papers? No, I have more to do than to read riffraff rubbish. You were the first to inform me. Well, Horace leaned his arms on the splashboard calmly. Steve's gone to see father and mother on the astral plane. I expect he will quarrel with them as usual. They never got on together. Preilis suppressed a smile at this odd, unchristian way of viewing death and knotted. I quite understand why you don't believe Agstone to be guilty. He remarked after a pause. Meaning that I'm a born fool? Retorted Horace, genially. Make no mistake, old son, if Steve were guilty, I should not defend him in any way. But he was too devoted to old Lanwen to murder him. Besides, the doctor suddenly checked himself. But that's neither here nor there, my son. What isn't? Asked Preilis alertly. Never you mind. Ask no questions and you'll be told no lies. Here we are at the door of the temple of falsehood. Get out. Preilis alighted with his companion, sorely puzzled to know what this enigmatic remark meant. That Horace knew of something which had to do with the Lanwen case, he was perfectly sure that the something implicated the late Mr. Agstone, he was also certain. But Preilis knew his friend sufficiently well to be satisfied that he would not explain, unless it appeared to him needful to do so. All that could be done was to trust blindly to the rugged old sinner, and perhaps he would be able to lead those concerned in the case out of the labyrinth of crime. He certainly appeared to hold a clue. Dr. Horace, more brusque and domineering than ever, pushed his way into the crowded court, eliciting comments the reverse of complimentary. Of these, with characteristic cynicism, he took no notice, but secured good places for himself and Preilis. In a few minutes he scribbled a note and sent it to Cudworth, K.C. The council read it with a puzzled air, glanced at the rider across the crowded court and whispered to the usher. Shortly Dr. Horace was requested to go to the lawyer's table and was soon in deep conversation with the big barrister. While this was taking place, Preilis stared at Ms. Chint, who looked weary and sad as she sat in the dock. The strain of her perilous position was beginning to tell upon her, which was scarcely to be wondered at. Again her roving eyes caught sight of Preilis, and again she blushed. This time drawing a corresponding signal from him. Apparently the natures of these two were sympathetic. The case was rapidly drawing to a close as the witnesses for the prosecution had been examined, and now those for the defense were giving evidence. From a solicitor at his elbow, the young man learned that Cudworth had succeeded in proving the destruction of the will in Mona Chint's favor. This had been done by the production of half burnt and minutely torn scraps of paper rescued from the grate in the library. These pieced together had revealed the mention of the prisoner's name and of the 10,000 a year and of the love and affection felt by the testator for his knees. As the will could not be found and it was certain that Sir Oliver had framed no New Testament, the presumption was that the burnt document was the will in question, and despite all efforts, the other side could not prove otherwise. This was assuredly a great point in the prisoner's favor, as had she murdered her uncle, she would certainly not have destroyed a deed which made her wealthy. It was with great surprise that Preilis saw Shepworth placed in the witness box to give evidence, since he had left him practically imprisoned in his own flat. Possibly Inspector Burge had received instructions from Scotland Yard on detailing what had happened in Alexander Manchin's, to afford the judge and jury the opportunity of seeing how similar the murders of Agstone and his master were to one another. Shepworth was perfectly cheerful and composed, much more so than he had been on the previous day, so apparently he had no fear that his arrest would lead to his conviction. Indeed, he was so clearly innocent that Preilis expected he would be set free after the inquest proceedings on Agstone's body had taken place. Meanwhile he caught his friend's eye and smiled, after which he smiled again encouragingly at Mona. Shepworth's evidence was to the effect that Miss Chint loved her uncle and would never have harmed him in any way. Sir Oliver, in the course of an occult conversation, had referred to a certain herb. He did not give it any name, which when burned produced trances. Apparently when prisoner entered the library to make up her quarrel with Sir Oliver, the baronet had been testing the herb and the fumes had reduced Miss Chint to an unconscious state. Then Shepworth went on to detail his own experience and narrated the same story as he had told to Preilis, to the two doctors and to Inspector Burge. Finally he mentioned that Agstone had re-entered the dining room before returning with the masked lady, holding a knife. As Shepworth naturally was not asked if the knife was concealed in his desk, there was no need for him to commit perjury, which he would have been unwilling to do, even to save the girl he loved. While the barrister was giving his evidence, Lord Preilis was called to Cudworth's side and introduced by Dr. Horace. He learned that the council wished him to appear as a witness and substantiate Shepworth's story, which the young man was perfectly willing to do. It thus happened that when Shepworth retired, Cudworth examined Preilis and heard from him how Shepworth had been found unconscious and how many people, including Captain Jadby, had seen him in this helpless state. This evidence induced the recall of Jadby and he reluctantly swore that the barrister was indeed unable to strike the murderous blow which had slain the old sailor. Both Shepworth and Preilis had given evidence as to the finding of the knife under the table by Inspector Burge and that officer himself next appeared to say how he had picked it up. Mrs. Blexley, Madame Marie Eppinggrave and the two granged servants were then called to depose that the paper cutter with the jade handle found in the flat by Burge and produced in court was the same that had lain on Sir Oliver's writing desk in the library wherein the crime had been committed.  But of course the question as to who had killed Agstone was not touched upon. The final witness was Dr. Horace and he dealt entirely with the questions of the perfumed smoke alluded to by the prisoner and by Shepworth. Producing a grotesque brown root and several stems covered with purple leaves, more or less withered, the doctor deposed that it was a certain plant growing in Easter Island and nowhere else so far as he knew. The natives gave it no name but termed it the sacred herb and it was used by their priests to induce trances in which the spirit was supposed to leave the body and appear before the gods incarnate, so to speak in the gigantic statues of the island. Belmaine for the prosecution. Did you give any portion of this herb to Sir Oliver Landwin? Witness emphatically. No, I was acquainted with Sir Oliver in the South Seas but I never met him in England. We did not get on well together and were better apart. Belmaine, then how did Sir Oliver become possessed of this herb which by your own showing is to be found only in Easter Island? Witness, I cannot say how Sir Oliver got the herb. Of course he was sailing the South Seas for years and probably went to Easter Island. If he did, he certainly would have secured a portion of the herb from the native priests seeing that he took so profound and interest in occult matters. Belmaine, then you think that Sir Oliver was experimenting with the herb when prisoner entered the library? Witness, I think it extremely likely considering the presence of the white smoke and the tube rose perfume which is exactly the kind of scent given off by the herb when burnt. The fumes of the herb would choke prisoner in the way she stated and reduce her to unconsciousness. Belmaine significantly. To complete unconsciousness, witness. I think so seeing that she was not accustomed to the smoke of the herb.  It did so apparently in the case of Ms. Chint and although Mr. Sheporth was simply cataleptic at first the waving of the bronze cup under his nose plunged him into the deeper state. Belmaine, how did Agstone become possessed of the herb to burn in Alexander Mansions? Witness, I really cannot tell you. Perhaps he went to Easter Island with his master and got some leaves of the herb or it might be that when taking the knife away from the library he also secured the leaves which were lying on Sir Oliver's desk. Belmaine quickly. How do you know the leaves were there? Witness, coolly. I am only surmising. If Landwin was experimenting with the herb he must have got out his packet of leaves and roots. I expect not being used to the herb he was reduced either to catalepsy or to unconsciousness and while thus helpless was murdered. Belmaine, by Steve Agstone? Witness, I am not prepared to say. Very dryly. A very improper question rebuked the judge and Belmaine sat down feeling that he had not scored off this rugged witness. Before Dr. Horace left the witness box the judge prompted by the foreman of the jury requested him to burn some leaves of the herb at once. But do not reduce us to a state of catalepsy said the judge with a smile. We have to finish our business, you know. A china plate was brought and on this Horace gravely laid two or three leaves of the sacred herb. On applying a match a thick curl of pungent white smoke arose like a summer cloud and the odor of tube roses was perceptively indicated in the heavy atmosphere of the court. Freelace, who was standing near the witness box and so smelt the perfume very strongly suddenly felt sick and swiftly pushed his way into the fresh air. He was inclined to faint, being susceptible to odors and but that a good Samaritan addicted to alcohol had produced a flask of brandy he would have become unconscious. When quite restored he thought how very powerful the herb was when even so slight a breath of the smoke could muddle his senses. No wonder that Ms. Chint and Sir Oliver and Sheporth had become unconscious when the full power of the burning purple leaves was poured through the rooms. Freelace did not feel inclined to reenter the court and sat outside in the vestibule smoking a cigarette. Here he was joined by Captain Jadby which rather surprised the young man as he thought that the sailor's love for Mona Chint would have kept him in the court. Also, Freelace was surprised when Jadby approached him in quite a friendly way and with an apology. I hope you have forgiven me for my rudeness last night Lord Freelace was his ingratiating remark. I never gave it another thought, retorted Freelace brusquely. Pray do not apologize again, you did so last night. Thank you, said Jadby smiling all over his smooth feline face. I am glad that you take it in such a spirit. By the way, I never knew that you were acquainted with Dr. Horace. Freelace stared at this impertinent remark. Very probably, he said stiffly, but then you know nothing about me. I know that you went to Easter Island, Lord Freelace. I heard of your visit when I went there myself. Oh, said Freelace alertly, then you visited the island also. I have just said so, rejoined Jadby coolly, but I did not bring away any of the herb. If that is what you mean. It is not what I mean, said the other, wondering why Jadby should say such a thing. I don't accuse you of murdering Sir Oliver, even though you inherit the property. He was thus pointed and rude to get rid of the smiling man before him. As he felt the same antipathy to Jadby as he would have done to a cat, the one animal which Freelace could not endure. But the sailor was not at all annoyed, or if he was, did not show it. Rather did he smile in a very satisfied way. Yes, I do inherit the property, he remarked, and there is a good reason why I should. Really, observed Freelace, considering what the reason might be but unwilling to ask. Yes, really, retorted the captain, still smiling. Of course I am sorry for Miss Chint, but when she marries me, all will be well. You forget, sir, she marries Mr. Shepworth. They are engaged, replied Jadby with a shrug, but I do not think they will ever be married. Mrs. Rover, Freelace interrupted imperilously. What do you mean by mentioning Mrs. Rover's name in this connection? He demanded, flushing. Oh, said Jadby with his hateful smile. I understood that you and Mr. Shepworth were intimate friends. Good day. And before Freelace could stop him, Captain Jadby had vanished amidst the crowd, leaving, like the wasp he was, a sting behind him. Freelace frowned. He recollected Shepworth's blush, Lady Sophia's remarks, and now considered Captain Jadby's hint. It would seem that his friend was either in love with Mrs. Dolly Rover or was entangled in some way. If that was the case, he could not possibly love Mona. And if he did not, Freelace's face grew crimson and his eyes brightened. Then he shook himself free of the thought. Jadby was implying that Shepworth was behaving dishonorably and Freelace could not bring himself to believe that such was the case. He had known Ned too long to doubt him. All the same, he felt that an explanation would clear the air and concluded to ask Shepworth for one as delicately as possible. Upon that explanation would depend his future movements. Lord Freelace walked up and down the vestibule, musing on Mona, on her perilous position, on Shepworth's possible entanglement with Mrs. Rover, late Miss Constance Newton, and on the enigmatic hints of Dr. Horace dealing with the mysterious cases in which friendship had involved him. Thus thinking, he lost all note of time. And it was only when a court official came to turn on the electrics that he became aware of the passing of time. Glancing at his watch, he found that it was several hours since he had left the court, and he determined to enter again and hear the speeches of the Council for the Defense and Prosecution. But just as he turned in the direction of the court, he heard a cheer, and an excited throng of people poured out. In two minutes, Freelace was in possession of the news and learned that Mona Chint had been acquitted. She was free. End of chapter 10.


Winter has hit and we're smack dab in the middle of holiday season. It's a season of treats and sweets and lots of eating. And today I have a little snack that is so perfect to celebrate this cold weather and to share with others when you go to social events this holiday season. I've got some little penguins that are so fun to make for adults and children and they're really fun to eat too. I'll show you how simple they are to make. First of all, you need some round crackers. I like to use the little round rice crackers. I've got some black olives that I've cut in half. I put them on some paper towels so that they would dry a little bit before I use them. I've got some black peppercorns for the eyes and I just took some thin slices of carrot, round slices and just kept cutting it, cutting it into tiny little triangles for the beak. And then some almonds that I cut.  And then you need something to spread on the cracker to use as your glue to hold all the pieces on. So you can use some softened cream cheese or a flavored cream cheese spread. I'm using one of my favorite spreads today. And you want it to be nice and soft so that it's easy to spread on the cracker and that's the first thing you need to do. And then I'm going to put it on my work surface because it's easier to work with. And first I guess I'll put my little feet right down at the bottom. And then I'm going to put my wings on and that's going to be my olives. So you'll want to put those right on the sides. And for people who don't care for olives, you can use almonds for wings.  And then we have to put our little beak on, of course. There you go. That's all there is to it. This is a fun project for the whole family to work on together and they're really fun to eat but what you need to know is for the best flavor, you should pop the whole thing into your mouth at once and that way you get the little crunch of the black peppercorn, that salty olive. They're so good. So pop it in and enjoy. Celebrate winter. I'm Sue Dodin sharing good food for Good Life 365.


Hello everybody, E here. Welcome back to another episode of 31 Days of Halloween. Today we are talking about His Black Tongue by Mitchell Luthie, a 2021 collection, very short collection of novellas and stories. There are two novellas and there are two short stories and let's just jump right into the review. Okay, so I read His Black Tongue in one sitting. The highlight of the entire collection is the first story. I believe it's the titular story. It has the same name. And then there's another novella called The Bone Fields. And then you have two short stories, The Knights of the Non-Eclidian Table and Necropolis. I absolutely loved the first story. I was kind of wishy-washy about the two in the middle, but I did like Necropolis. The first one stands out the most, so that's the one that I'm going to be reviewing the most, because the other ones really didn't stay much, didn't stay with me much. And even Necropolis was something that a couple days after I had listened to the audiobook, I was already starting to forget it. So consider this pretty much a review of just the first story. The first story was absolutely amazing, epic. It's very dark, almost grim, dark fantasy. You have this group of people going out and the names of the town, and I listened to it on audiobook. I don't have a physical copy to check. The names of the town and the names of the characters were said different a lot of the time. Not because the narrator was messing up, but because they were different accents. They were Scottish, Irish, Old English. There was all different kinds of French because it takes place in 14th century France. All that stuff and all the characters sounded different. I also want to let you know that the audiobook is on Scribd. If you want to give it a shot, you can get a free month by clicking on the link down there in the doobly-doo. You get a free month. My kids also get a free month, so if you want to help them have access to more books, I'd appreciate it. You can't do it if you've already used my link before just as a heads up, but I listened to it on Scribd and the cover is absolutely gorgeous. I love the cover and that's what really brought me into the story. As far as the first one, I was not expecting what I got. It blew my mind how creative and weird and just overall creepy this story is. To give you a brief overview, there's a group of people that go to this town to try and help out.  On top of all this, there was recently a witch burning in the town. There is some very very off-putting and creepy scenes in a cemetery where they're digging someone up to perform last rites and then arguing over whether or not that person should get last rites. I really love that scene, but the thing that I want to really hammer home here is the atmosphere. I look for three things in any story that I either read or movies that I watch. That's characters, pacing and dread, where the characters failed me, the pacing and the dread really saved it. So what I'm going to do is I'm going to give this book four stars because I would rate that very first novella five stars and then all the rest of them kind of it was like I wish I almost wish that the first novella had been at the end, but if that had happened then I probably wouldn't have finished it. That's unfortunate to say, but that's the truth. Maybe if necropolis came first and then those other two stayed where they were in the middle, I'm not sure. But when I say the atmosphere is off the charts in the first story, you just got to trust me and you got to read it for yourself. I don't want to say anything else, I don't want to say anything more about that story. And the other three, honestly, it's been a month since I read it. I don't remember much at all. Other than thinking had that first novella been at the tail end, it would have given a bigger punch. In fact, I might have rated the entire collection higher because it was like you come out the gate doing 90, just doing your absolute best and then you slam on the brakes for the next couple laps and then you kind of speed up toward the end, but you never reach that same speed, you're going about 50, 60 miles per hour, you never hit 90 again. That's what this felt like. And it's not that they left a bad taste in my mouth, it just wasn't up to par, in my opinion, with the first story, which brings me to the last thing I want to talk about here so often, especially in traditional publishing, sometimes in small press also. You really don't see this issue in indie because there are no rules when you go indie. We have a amazing, amazing novella that should stand alone and sit over by itself. Should have been published alone. It shouldn't have anything else with it because it is so, it's just that good. But they force the author, I don't know if this is the case in this author's circumstance, but I know from experience and other people who have dealt with traditional publishers, that they will force more content, whether or not that content lives up to the content that they are buying to begin with, just so that they can recoup the money for selling the book. Because if not, you end up having situations like with Neil Gaiman's The Ocean at the end of the lane, where people are complaining because they're getting charged $26.99 for a hardcover version, and the book is only 100 pages long.  And it just gives you more return on your investment. That is really my only criticism about this as far as the publishing side of things, where I don't feel like those other stories were needed at all. Necropolis could have been in a longer collection, or maybe even published by itself. But the two stories in the middle didn't do anything for me. And I'm trying to stay away from, you know, too negative of a review, mainly because I want you guys to read this book for that first story.  I cannot really speak to the other three other than Necropolis. It was fun. But yeah, so take that for what you will. Again, if you want to try the book, it is on Scribd. The link's down there in the doobly-doo. Get you a free month, get my kids a free month. Anyways, I'd appreciate it. But yeah, so that's all the time I have for you today. This has been my review of His Black Tongue by Mitchell Luthie. But until next time, I have been E, you have been U. This has been another episode of 31 Days of Halloween. I'll talk to you guys later. Bye-bye!