gave way to the diabolic joy, and that, too, was intensified. The face held it for not many seconds. Back
came the expectancy then on its heels the unholy glee. The two expressions alternated, rapidly. They
flickered over Peters' face like-like the flickers of the tiny lights within the corpuscles of his blood. Braile
spoke to me through stiff lips:
"His heart stopped three minutes ago! He ought to be dead-yet listen-"
The body of Peters stretched and stiffened. A sound came from his lips-a chuckling sound; low yet
singularly penetrating, inhuman, the chattering laughter of a devil. The gunman at the window leaped to his
feet, his chair going over with a crash. The laughter choked and died away, and the body of Peters lay
limp.
I heard the door open, and Ricori's voice: "How is he, Dr. Lowell? I could not sleep-" He saw Peters'