“Father, what’s in that?  I must know,” said Otto, with the first signs of determination in his voice.  There must have been an effort on the son’s part to gain possession of the parcel in question, and on the father’s to retain it, for between them it fell to the ground.  A curious rattle followed its contact with the floor.  Instantly there were sounds of a scuffle.  The men were struggling for the possession of the box.  The elder man with oaths, and blasphemous imprecations, the other with short gasps that betokened the strength of his efforts.  It was of short duration, and the younger man had evidently won, for a minute later was heard his angry exclamation.

“I knew it.  Her jewels!  You scoundrel, you shall never have them.  It is a crime.”

The elder man uttered a short, guttural laugh, which froze Jim’s blood and made his skin creep.  No word was spoken, and for the space of ten seconds there was a living silence.  Then the air trembled with the sound of a thud, followed immediately by a groan and the crash of a heavy body falling over on to the table.  A second later there was a lurching from the table on to the floor and against the partition that separated the rooms.  The bed quivered an instant at the shock, but the unholy spell was lifted from his soul and Jim Shorthouse sprang out of bed and across the floor in a single bound.  He knew that ghastly murder had been done—­the murder by a father of his son.

With shaking fingers but a determined heart he lit the gas, and the first thing in which his eyes corroborated the evidence of his ears was the horrifying detail that the lower portion of the partition bulged unnaturally into his own room.  The glaring paper with which it was covered had cracked under the tension and the boards beneath it bent inwards towards him.  What hideous load was behind them, he shuddered to think.

All this he saw in less than a second.  Since the final lurch against the wall not a sound had proceeded from the room, not even a groan or a foot-step.  All was still but the howl of the wind, which to his ears had in it a note of triumphant horror.

Shorthouse was in the act of leaving the room to rouse the house and send for the police—­in fact his hand was already on the door-knob—­when something in the room arrested his attention.  Out of the corner of his eyes he thought he caught sight of something moving.  He was sure of it, and turning his eyes in the direction, he found he was not mistaken.

Something was creeping slowly towards him along the floor.  It was something dark and serpentine in shape, and it came from the place where the partition bulged.  He stooped down to examine it with feelings of intense horror and repugnance, and he discovered that it was moving toward him from the other side of the wall.  His eyes were fascinated, and for the moment he was unable to move.  Silently, slowly, from side to side like a thick worm, it crawled forward into the room beneath his frightened eyes, until at length he could stand it no longer and stretched out his arm to touch it.  But at the instant of contact he withdrew his hand with a suppressed scream.  It was sluggish—­and it was warm! and he saw that his fingers were stained with living crimson.