knock at the door that, at first, seemed to come across an immeasurable distance, brought him back to himself. It was Reginald’s manservant announcing that breakfast was waiting.

Ernest got up and rubbed his eyes. The barricade at the door at once brought back to his mind with startling clearness the events of the previous evening.

Everything was as he had left it. Evidently no one had attempted to enter the room while he slept. He could not help smiling at the arrangement which reminded him of his childhood, when he had sought by similar means security from burglars and bogeys. And in the broad daylight Ethel’s tales of vampires seemed once more impossible and absurd. Still, he had abundant evidence of Reginald’s strange influence, and was determined to know the truth