"Sign—sign there!" urged the Count, pointing towards the paper.
"What is the matter with your eyes?" gasped Dick. "They burn with the light of hell fire."
"You are dreaming, boy. Sign, and let's have a bottle of wine to seal the bargain."
"I must be dreaming," thought Dick. "An angel's face! What mad, idiotic nonsense!"
He still held the pen in his hand, and it seemed to him that strength was again returning to his fingers.
"Where must I sign?" he muttered. "I can't see plainly."
"There—right at the point of your pen," was the Count's reply.
But Dick did not sign, for suddenly he saw a white, shadowy hand appear, which with irresistible strength gripped his wrist.