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50 bulged from their sockets like those of a maniac as he glared at the oncoming machine.

The afternoon, which was just drawing to a close, had been unusually hot; the storm, hovering over the countryside, filled the air with a strange foreboding—an unusual degree of sultriness. The sky was dull save when an occasional flash of lightning tore through the lowering heavens. Not a breath of wind. Not the rustle of a leaf. Yet the teeth of the man in the roadway rattled like castanets, and upon his clammy brow the cold sweat of terror stood out in beads.

The driver of the big machine brought it to a stop with a sharp grinding of brakes. As he caught a glimpse of the ghastly face of the man before him he involuntarily hunched his body back further into his seat.

"What the hell!" he exclaimed.

The other leaped to the side of the machine and fumbled clumsily—his fingers shaking like those of a man with the palsy—at the catch of the door.

"Quick!" he exclaimed hoarsely. "He—the Bodymaster—is after me! Get me to the police station. I must—Oh, my God! I must tell my story before he seizes me again!"

He managed to open the door and stumble into the machine. The driver turned to him.

"All right, old man." he said in the soothing tone that one uses in addressing a lunatic. "We'll get you there in a jiffy. Are you from the big house up yonder?" He jerked his thumb in the direction of the sanitarium.

An involuntary shudder ran through the young man. His eyes dilated. He shrank away from the motorist.

"My God! Not there! Not there again!" he implored. "Please don't take me back to that den! You think that I'm a madman. I can see that you do I'm sane—as sane as you. But heavens knows why—after the hell I've been through!"

He turned to the driver and grasped him by the arm.

"Give her the gas!" he exclaimed. "Can't you see that I'm doomed? But no. You know nothing of the Bodymaster and the strange hold he has over his subjects. He is after me—he, the Bodymaster! It is to save others from the same fate that I must tell what I know!"

With a sudden bound he leaped forward. his eyes wild, his hair in a tousled mass, his hands stretched out, the fingers clawing wildly. his whole body quivering. Then he dropped to the floor of the machine as if hurled by unseen hands.

"He is here! The Bodymaster is here!" he shrieked. "Drive—for the love of God, dr"

The words ended in a dull, throaty gurgle as he writhed upon the floor of the machine at the other's feet. The driver, bewildered by the strange scene, threw in the clutch, and the machine dashed madly down the pavement.

The young man was on his back now, his knees drawn up, his face ghastly and twisted, his eyes bulging, his fingers clawing as if unseen hands were gripping at his throat. His mouth was open—gaping as he fought for breath.

With a wild yell of terror, the driver leaped from the machine. The automobile swerved, skidded—then hurled its weight against a nearby tree.

Summoning his courage, he rose to his feet from the side of the road, where his fall had thrown him among the brush and brambles, and approached the wreck. In the bottom of the car the stranger lay dead!

And upon his white throat were the black marks of fingers!