The time passed slowly. After a while he pressed fingers to bleary eyes. He had enjoyed little sleep of late. Shifting uneasily in his chair, he became suddenly conscious of a vague feeling as of an alien presence there in the room. Moments later a slight sound brought him to dreadful attention.
There was a shaving-mirror stood next to the table. Something in the corner of his eye, something he saw reflected in the glass, had given him rather a shock. It was the wardrobe that stood against the wall behind him. The door of the wardrobe, which had been closed, was seen to be opening, its hinges a-creak, mouse-like. This had been the slight sound.
He recoiled in alarm. Framed in the doorway was a blackened, shriveled mass -- a grisly, horrid, wasted thing, more like a diseased mannequin than a man. Two gleaming orbs like points of burning coal, twin lamps of lurid crimson deep-sunk in withered sockets, regarded him from the stealthy dark of the wardrobe.
Waves of horror washed over him. The thing was beyond all comprehension -- hellish, foul, abominable.
With panic urging him to flight, he lurched up out of his chair. The next he knew a bony, claw-like hand of steel had slammed down on his shoulder. He gave an involuntary cry. Then his face dimmed like a snuffed candle, his eyes rolled glassily in his head, he took two or three steps, sagged and, melting down like lard on a hot griddle, knew no more . . .