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It was the butler, a stately man despite the scantiness of his attire.

"I took the liberty of going down into the store-room again, Mr. Bellamy," he said, "for another search, and I found this."

Bellamy jumped up and snatched the thing from Wilks' outstretched hand. At first he could not see what it was; it looked like a small red ball, but when he took it in his hand he saw it was a handkerchief. It was wet with blood, and Bellamy's brows met.

"So I got the swine after all!" he said exultantly. "Do ghosts bleed?" he snarled round at Savini. "Tell me that, my friend. Does a ghost bleed?"

He opened the handkerchief to its full extent.

"A woman's," he said.

It was a delicate thing, of fine fabric and lace, and in one corner was a monogram. He carried the handkerchief to the table and held it under the light.

"V. H.," he said and frowned again. "V. H. Who in hell is V. H.?"

He did not glimpse Savini's face nor see him start.

V. H.! Valerie Howett!

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