The Cotton Factory Times. — 1914-01-30 (Manchester, Greater Manchester, England)

COLUMN SEVEN.]  with irresistible fume. Her husband was mad.  She was glad that he rushed from the room. She heard him in his studio, laughing wildly to himself, and was only thankful that he had left her. All through the afternoon she heard him. There was silence, then that awful, pealing laugh. Another silence, while she counted the moments, dreading the reiteration of that terrible nerve-racking mirth. Again and again it broke the stillness. At, last she could bear it no longer. Twilight had fallen, and with the coming of darknem she feared it with a terrible, killing dread. She rushed to the telephone and rang up Doctor Braithwaite. His cheery voice sounding over the wires comforted and reassured her. "My dear Mrs. Villiers," he said, "I am coming now—as mice." Too well he knew what had happened, the reslisation of his worst fears. So he wasted no moments. Each one he knew was precious Yet it was half-an-hour before he arrived, and it was a half-hour which nearly drove Mrs. Villiers as mad as the man who had locked himself in the room upstaira alone with the picture which had turned his brain.  As she heard the doctor's motor stop outside *be rushed to the door. "Thank God, you have mote," she said.  They stood in the hall; there wrts a moment'a silence. A question was on the doctor's lips, but it remained unasked. Something else broke the silence—that wild, mad laugh, which had grown almost inhuman. The doctor took Mrs. Villiers' arm and led her into the drawing-room. "What are you going to  "I am going to take you away, but first I am going to see your husband." Doctor Braithwaite ens a strong man. Years spent abroad, and an an army surgeon, had made him as hard as nails. But he knew that before him lay a task such as lie had never undertaken before.  Outside the decr he paused. Within the room wa. silence.  He tried .the handle. The door was locked. " Let me in," he shouted. 'Who are you?" said Villiers. His voice was strained and unnatural. Mrs. Villiers had followed the doctor up the stairs, despite his entreaties.  They hoard Villiers move across the room, ad every fibre in the doctor's body tightened. Was he going to open the door, and if so, for what purpose?  . "I am Braithwaite," he replied. A laugh greeted his words, one which made the waiting woman shake from head to foot. "You lie—you are not Braithwaite—you have come for me at last. I knew you would, but you shan't take me  The doctor thrust his shoulders against the door. The wood creaked. At the same second, from within the room, there came the sound of a allot The neat moment the door was down, and Doctor Braithwaite entered. Villiers was lying on the floor, dead; he had shot himiadf through the head. On the easel rested the picture which had driven him said. It depicted two men; one was sitting 'down, reading, whilst the other crept upon Inin from behind. a knife in his hand. The, was look of repose on the one man's face, and on the other the murder that was in his heart. And the face of the man with the knife was that of Villiers himself, while the other wut that of his wife's first huaband.