The menacing tones ceased abruptly, as Jack put out his shaking hands and grasped her wrists.
"I see you must be told. Well, then—this is it! He took his cousin's place, Evarne, and we—we left him alone—and—and something happened!"
For one long minute absolute silence reigned within the room. Pallister ceased sobbing and held his breath. Evarne did not speak, but stared at Jack with unwinking gaze. He saw a fearsome change steal over her face. Every feature seemed to alter, to be transformed under his very eyes, becoming unrecognisable—horrible! Without warning, she pushed him violently away, and with a few rapid steps was by the side of the dead man. She laid her hand upon the fair hair.
"So it is you I have killed, Geoff!" she said, quietly enough.
"God in Heaven, what?" shouted Jack at the top of his voice.
Evarne did not speak, but suddenly plunging her hands through her damp hair she began to scream—wild, piercing shrieks that chilled the blood of those who heard. Nothing could stay her—until her voice gave way. Still she screamed on spasmodically, producing merely horrible and discordant sounds.
Loud shouts arose from the street. A policeman's shrill whistle blew frantically again and again.
And then Evarne commenced to laugh, a hoarse, derisive gurgle.
"Do you hear that laughter?" she cried huskily. "It is Morris Kenyon. It is funny for him, isn't it? And it's—yes—I see—that cat-faced goddess—Sekhet! So you all think the game is played out, do you? We'll see."
She clasped her arms around the dead form, pressing it tightly to her breast. She laid her cheek to Geoff's, and so rose with her white, distorted face besmeared and sullied.