Kiss me." Fairchild, seeking to still the horror-laden quiver of his body, heard the sound of a kiss and then the clatter of a man's heavy shoes on the stairs, accompanied by a slight clink from below.

He knew that sound,--the scraping of the steel of a spade against the earth as it was dragged into use.

A moment more and Rodaine, mumbling to himself, passed out the door.

But the woman did not come upstairs.

Fairchild knew why: her crazed mind was following the instructions of the man who knew how to lead the lunatic intellect into the channels he desired; she was digging, digging a grave for some one, a grave to be lined with quicklime! Now she was talking again and chanting, but Fairchild did not attempt to determine the meaning of it all.