The Inspector’s flat, Brooklynese tones contrasted strangely with the purple prose he was reading, but he held his audience spellbound all the same. “‘Then I gave a shudderin’ gasp of horror, for I could see Karen, her ivory-white almost nude body stretched out on the sack—the sacrificial block—so that she could move neither hand nor foot. Her pale lovely face was upraised to the idol, frozen wit’ terror. The music rose to a cress—crescendo, pulsing in my veins. Swirls of incense from the stolen temple vessels rose around the tortured girl, but the worst was yet to come. No, no, this could not be! The Thing, the statue of Hanuman, the monkey-god was alive! Its tail was moving like a sinuous, hairy snake, moving down slowly to wrap itself around the throat of the helpless girl! To be continued in our next issue.’”

Wayland had struggled to his feet. “It’s a lie!” he screamed. “It’s a frame-up! I never read that magazine—”

“You never remembered reading it—you never remembered where you got the idea for the murder, but you were unlucky enough to keep the proof that will send you to the Chair!” Piper held the magazine, spread open, in front of the prisoner. “In your own cellar, you mugg!”

The sweat was pouring from Wayland’s round face, but he made one last feeble effort. “But the door—you admit I had to break down the door—”

“You broke it down before the murder was committed—and then set it up again so you could smash it at the right time, with witnesses listening!”

The fight was gone out of the man now. He held his head in his hands, sobbing a little. Miss Withers leaned over and whispered something to the Inspector. “What?” he cried.

“But, of course, Oscar. He couldn’t have done it alone! Somebody had to—”

“No, no! I was alone!” cried Wayland. “Inga didn’t—”

“Shut up, you fool!” Inga cried, tearing herself away from the young detective and hovering over Wayland like an avenging Fury. “You weak, sniveling fool! They’ve trapped you!” She stopped suddenly, biting her hand. The room was still.

“I was about to say,” continued Miss Withers, “that somebody had to be on the inside of that room, to bolt the door for him so he could break it down. And what is more likely than that it should be the young lady who rushed out so fast to telephone a warning to him when she heard I was coming to snoop around?”

“Prove that in court!” Inga cried.

“Your mistake,” Miss Withers advised her, “was made when you set your fiancé to washing the dishes so you could get out and make your phone call. No girl in her right mind would do a thing like that before she had the young man signed, sealed, and delivered.”