Now as this bedroom was a counterpart of her own she knew where the
light button would be. She might stumble over a chair or two, but
in the end she would find the light. The fingers of one hand
spread out before her and the other clutching the impossible
automatic, she succeeded in navigating the uncharted reefs of an
unfamiliar room. She blinked for a moment after throwing on the
light, and stood with her back to the wall, the automatic wabbling
at nothing in particular. The room was empty so far as she could
see. There was evidence of a physical encounter, but she could not
tell whether it was due to the former or to the latter invasion.

Where was he? From where she stood she could not see the floor on
the far side of the bed. Timidly she walked past the foot of the
bed - and the transient paralysis of horror laid hold of her. She
became bereft of the power to grasp and hold, and the automatic
slipped from her fingers and thudded on the carpet.

On the floor lay poor Johnny Two-Hawks, crumpled grotesquely, a
streak of blood zigzagging across his forehead; to all appearances,
dead!



CHAPTER VII


Twice before in her life Kitty had looked upon death by violence;
and it required only this present picture to convince her that she
would never be able to gaze upon it callously, without pity and
terror. Newspaper life - at least the reportorial side of it - has