"Above all,
who wields it?"
He stared about the room, as though half-expecting to see some mighty
and remorseless arm poised, ready to strike. Then he shook himself
together.
"I beg pardon," he said, mopping the sweat from his face; "but I'm
not used to this sort of thing; and I'm frightened--yes, I really
believe I'm frightened," and he laughed, a little unsteady laugh.
"So am I," said Godfrey; "so is Lester; so is everybody. You needn't
be ashamed of it."
"What frightens me," went on Hughes, evidently studying his own
symptoms, "is the mystery of it--there is something supernatural
about it--something I can't understand. How does it happen that each
of the victims is struck on the right hand? Why not the left hand?
Why the hand at all?"
Godfrey answered with a despairing shrug.
"That is what we've got to find out," he said.
"We shall have to call in the police," suggested Hughes. "Maybe they
can solve it."
Godfrey smiled, a little sceptical smile, quickly suppressed.
"At least, they will have to be given the chance," he agreed. "Shall
I attend to it?"
"Yes," said Hughes; "and you would better do it right away. The
sooner they get here the better.
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