prospered. His heirs had taken over the place, and it had been gradually dissipated, until only the house and an acre or so of land remained.
Burke listened politely, then, thanking the old couple, returned to the Hayden house. Hayden was awaiting him.
That evening, Burke sat beside the open fireplace, listening to the low, earnest conversation of the others. The woman and her daughter he observed closely. They seemed to be possessed of some restless emotion that caused them to wander aimlessly around. On the contrary, Hayden appeared to be sluggish and incapable of extended speech. This struck Burke as queer, as he had remarked the vivid description Hayden had given of the attic room.
At ten o'clock the women announced their intention of retiring. Bidding the two men good-night, they withdrew to their rooms. Burke and Hayden, the latter almost stupid and listless in his movements, went up the narrow stairs to the room above.
Both lay on the bed fully robed. Burke saw Hayden take a revolver from his pocket and shove it under his pillow.
"What shall we do?" asked Hayden heavily, seemingly unconscious of anything around him and staring vacantly at the ceiling.
"Well," replied Burke quietly, "first we will blow out the lamp."
He got out of bed and put out the light. Returning, he crawled on the further side of Hayden, leaving Hayden on the outside. Burke had no desire to be on the firing side of the revolver in the event that Hayden should start shooting.
The detective lay for an hour, pondering over the strange case. Finally he spoke to Hayden. The latter did not reply. He was apparently fast asleep. Yet, as Burke listened closely, he could discern no signs of the latter's breathing.
Burke now experienced a singular emotion aroused by the intense silence of the room. The longer he lay the more impressive it became. Downstairs he heard the low chime of a clock. It struck eleven. The minutes lagged along in the forbidding silence.
The clock chimed the half hour. Fifteen more minutes passed. Hayden, breathing heavily now, commenced to move. Burke half arose on his elbow and listened. Hayden was muttering in his sleep.
Burke eyed the dark shadows of the room with keen eyes. Nothing met his gaze. He glanced to the window. Nothing there. Hayden was suffering tortures in his struggle for breath.
The detective was on the point of shaking him, when, with a heavy, prolonged gasp, Hayden sat up. Burke sensed the horror of the man, yet he remained motionless. His eyes were fixed on the dark, silent room, wandering frequently to the window.
Nothing unusual was to be seen, and he watched the vague form of his bed-mate. The latter was now rigid, struggling with the weight that oppressed his lungs, and apparently staring off into the room. Then, to Burke's amazement, Hayden started to breathe normally.
"Burke," he whispered hoarsely, "did you see it? Did you see them pass down the stairs?"
"Eh?" grunted Burke sleepily.
"My God!" muttered Hayden, "you were to watch, and you fall asleep. They have gone down the stairs. They'll come back again in four or five minutes. Watch!"
Burke made no reply. He, with his wide-awake companion, was staring intently at the window. Suddenly he felt Hayden stiffen.
"The head is just coming up the stairs!" whispered Hayden.
Burke felt the movement of Hayden's arm as it slid under the pillow. Then came the blinding flash of the revolver and its roar. Twice Hayden pulled the trigger. By that time Burke had flashed on his electric torch. The room was empty. Burke glanced a the floor. No blood was visible.
Hayden was panting and rocking back and forth.
"I feel awful queer," he groaned. "Something is dragging me."
