companion had addressed as Colquhoun, and whom I could only
suppose to be the painter of the celebrated picture which rested
upon the mantelshelf.

"Take him awa', Kreener! He is reaching for the violin!"

Animation returned to me, and I fell rather than ran down the
darkened stair. How I opened the street door I know not, but
even as I stepped out into the squalid alleys of Pennyfields the
cloaked figure was beside me. A hand was laid upon my shoulder.

"Listen!" commanded a deep voice.

Clearly, with an eerie sweetness, an evil, hellish beauty
indescribable, the wailing of a Stradivarius violin crept to my
ears from the room above. Slowly--slowly the music began, and my
soul rose up in revolt.

"Listen!" repeated the voice. "Listen! It is 'The Black Mass'!"






THE DANCE OF THE VEILS