"'Now—write!' he says, and as he dictates, I write—"
"This?" interjected Kennedy, eagerly holding up the letter that he had received from her.
Elaine looked it over with her drug-laden eyes. "Yes," she nodded, then lapsed again to the scene itself. "He reads it over and as he does so says, 'Now, address an envelope.' Himself he folds the letter, seals the envelope, stamps it, and drops it into his pocket, hastily straightening the desk.
"'Now, go ahead of me—again. Leave the room—no, by the hall door. We are going back upstairs.' I obey him, and at the door he switches off the lights. How I stand it, I don't know. I go upstairs, mechanically, into my own room—I and this masked man.
"'Take off the kimono and slippers!' he orders. I do that. 'Get into bed!' he growls. I crawl in fearfully. For a moment he looks about,—then goes out—with a look back as he goes. Oh! Oh! That hand—which he raises at me—THAT HAND!"
The poor girl was sitting bolt upright, staring straight at the hall door, as we watched and listened, fascinated.
Kennedy was bending over, soothing her. She gave evidences of coming out from the effect of the drug.
I noticed that Bennett had suddenly moved a step in the direction of the door at which she stared.
"My God!" he muttered, staring, too. "Look!"
We did look. A letter was slowly being inserted under the door.