"By strange coincidence, a thunderstorm had been brewing when Mahon, doing his grisly work at the bungalow, was dealing with the most grisly job of all—the head, the woman's head. He had severed it from the trunk, built a huge fire in the sitting room, placed her head upon it, then—I owe a debt here to Edgar Wallace, who edited the transcript of the Mahon trial—then the storm broke with a violent flash of lightning and an appalling crash of thunder. As the head of Emily Kaye lay upon the coals, the dead eyes opened, and Mahon fled out to the deserted shore. When he nerved himself to return, the fire had done its work."