ith the first flush of the morning Ethel appeared at the door of the house on Riverside Drive. She had not heard from Ernest, and had been unable to obtain connection with him at the telephone. Anxiety had hastened her steps. She brushed against Jack, who was also directing his steps to the abode of Reginald Clarke.

At the same time something that resembled Ernest Fielding passed from the house of the Vampire. It was a dull and brutish thing, hideously transformed, without a vestige of mind.

“Mr. Fielding,” cried Ethel, beside herself with fear as she saw him descending.

“Ernest!” Jack gasped, no less startled at the change in his friend’s appearance.

Ernest’s head followed the source