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For
an
instant
he
was
free
of
the
astonished
maniac
's
hands
,
and
in
another
instant
a
lucky
lunge
in
the
dark
had
put
his
own
hands
at
his
captor
's
weirdly
concealed
throat
.
Simultaneously
Rogers
gripped
him
again
,
and
without
further
preliminaries
the
two
were
locked
in
a
desperate
struggle
of
life
and
death
.
Jones
's
athletic
training
,
without
doubt
,
was
his
sole
salvation
;
for
his
mad
assailant
,
freed
from
every
inhibition
of
fair
play
,
decency
,
or
even
self-preservation
,
was
an
engine
of
savage
destruction
as
formidable
as
a
wolf
or
panther.Guttural
cries
sometimes
punctured
the
hideous
tussle
in
the
dark
.
Blood
spurted
,
clothing
ripped
,
and
Jones
at
last
felt
the
actual
throat
of
the
maniac
,
shorn
of
its
spectral
mask
.
He
spoke
not
a
word
,
but
put
every
ounce
of
energy
into
the
defence
of
his
life
.
Rogers
kicked
,
gouged
,
butted
,
bit
,
clawed
,
and
spat
--
yet
found
strength
to
yelp
out
actual
sentences
at
times
.
Most
of
his
speech
was
in
a
ritualistic
jargon
full
of
references
to
"
It
"
or
"
Rhan-Tegoth
"
,
and
to
Jones
's
overwrought
nerves
it
seemed
as
if
the
cries
echoed
from
an
infinite
distance
of
daemoniac
snortings
and
bayings
.
Toward
the
last
they
were
rolling
on
the
floor
,
overturning
benches
or
striking
against
the
walls
and
the
brick
foundations
of
the
central
melting-furnace
.
Up
to
the
very
end
Jones
could
not
be
certain
of
saving
himself
,
but
chance
finally
intervened
in
his
favour
.
A
jab
of
his
knee
against
Rogers
'
chest
produced
a
general
relaxation
,
and
a
moment
later
he
knew
he
had
won
.
Though
hardly
able
to
hold
himself
up
,
Jones
rose
and
stumbled
about
the
walls
seeking
the
light-switch
--
for
his
flashlight
was
gone
,
together
with
most
of
his
clothing
.
As
he
lurched
along
he
dragged
his
limp
opponent
with
him
,
fearing
a
sudden
attack
when
the
madman
came
to
.
Finding
the
switch-box
,
he
fumbled
till
he
had
the
right
handle
.
Then
,
as
the
wildly
disordered
workroom
burst
into
sudden
radiance
,
he
set
about
binding
Rogers
with
such
cords
and
belts
as
he
could
easily
find
.
The
fellow
's
disguise
--
or
what
was
left
of
it
--
seemed
to
be
made
of
a
puzzlingly
queer
sort
of
leather
.
For
some
reason
it
made
Jones
's
flesh
crawl
to
touch
it
,
and
there
seemed
to
be
an
alien
,
rusty
odour
about
it
.
In
the
normal
clothes
beneath
it
was
Rogers
'
key-ring
,
and
this
the
exhausted
victor
seized
as
his
final
passport
to
freedom
.
The
shades
at
the
small
,
slit-like
windows
were
all
securely
drawn
,
and
he
let
them
remain
so.Washing
off
the
blood
of
battle
at
a
convenient
sink
,
Jones
donned
the
most
ordinary-looking
and
least
ill-fitting
clothes
he
could
find
on
the
costume
hooks
.
Testing
the
door
to
the
courtyard
,
he
found
it
fastened
with
a
spring-lock
which
did
not
require
a
key
from
the
inside
.
He
kept
the
key-ring
,
however
,
to
admit
him
on
his
return
with
aid
--
for
plainly
,
the
thing
to
do
was
to
call
in
an
alienist
.
There
was
no
telephone
in
the
museum
,
but
it
would
not
take
long
to
find
an
all-night
restaurant
or
chemist
's
shop
where
one
could
be
had
.
He
had
almost
opened
the
door
to
go
when
a
torrent
of
hideous
abuse
from
across
the
room
told
him
that
Rogers
--
whose
visible
injuries
were
confined
to
a
long
,
deep
scratch
down
the
left
cheek
--
had
regained
consciousness
.
"
Fool
!
Spawn
of
Noth-Yidik
and
effluvium
of
K'thun
!
Son
of
the
dogs
that
howl
in
the
maelstrom
of
Azathoth
!
You
would
have
been
sacred
and
immortal
,
and
now
you
are
betraying
It
and
Its
priest
!
Beware
--
for
It
is
hungry
!
It
would
have
been
Orabona
--
that
damned
treacherous
dog
ready
to
turn
against
me
and
It
--
but
I
give
you
the
first
honour
instead
.
Now
you
must
both
beware
,
for
It
is
not
gentle
without
Its
priest
.
"
Iä
!
Iä
!
Vengeance
is
at
hand
!
Do
you
know
you
would
have
been
immortal
?
Look
at
the
furnace
!
There
is
a
fire
ready
to
light
,
and
there
is
wax
in
the
kettle
.
I
would
have
done
with
you
as
I
have
done
with
other
once-living
forms
.
Hei
!
You
,
who
have
vowed
all
my
effigies
are
waxen
,
would
have
become
a
waxen
effigy
yourself
!
The
furnace
was
all
ready
!
When
It
had
had
Its
fill
,
and
you
were
like
that
dog
I
shewed
you
,
I
would
have
made
your
flattened
,
punctured
fragments
immortal
!
Wax
would
have
done
it
.
Have
n't
you
said
I
'm
a
great
artist
?
Wax
in
every
pore
--
wax
over
every
square
inch
of
you
--
Iä
!
Iä
!
And
ever
after
the
world
would
have
looked
at
your
mangled
carcass
and
wondered
how
I
ever
imagined
and
made
such
a
thing
!
Hei
!
And
Orabona
would
have
come
next
,
and
others
after
him
--
and
thus
would
my
waxen
family
have
grown
!
"
Dog
--
do
you
still
think
I
made
all
my
effigies
?
Why
not
say
preserved
?
You
know
by
this
time
the
strange
places
I
've
been
to
,
and
the
strange
things
I
've
brought
back
.
Coward
--
you
could
never
face
the
dimensional
shambler
whose
hide
I
put
on
to
scare
you
--
the
mere
sight
of
it
alive
,
or
even
the
full-fledged
thought
of
it
,
would
kill
you
instantly
with
fright
!
Iä
!
Iä
!
It
waits
hungry
for
the
blood
that
is
the
life
!
"
Rogers
,
propped
against
the
wall
,
swayed
to
and
fro
in
his
bonds
.
"
See
here
,
Jones
--
if
I
let
you
go
will
you
let
me
go
?
It
must
be
taken
care
of
by
Its
high-priest
.
Orabona
will
be
enough
to
keep
It
alive
--
and
when
he
is
finished
I
will
make
his
fragments
immortal
in
wax
for
the
world
to
see
.
It
could
have
been
you
,
but
you
have
rejected
the
honour
.
I
wo
n't
bother
you
again
.
Let
me
go
,
and
I
will
share
with
you
the
power
that
It
will
bring
me
.
Iä
!
Iä
!
Great
is
Rhan-Tegoth
!
Let
me
go
!
Let
me
go
!
It
is
starving
down
there
beyond
that
door
,
and
if
It
dies
the
Old
Ones
can
never
come
back
.
Hei
!
Hei
!
Let
me
go
!
"
Jones
merely
shook
his
head
,
though
the
hideousness
of
the
showman
's
imaginings
revolted
him
.
Rogers
,
now
staring
wildly
at
the
padlocked
plank
door
,
thumped
his
head
again
and
again
against
the
brick
wall
and
kicked
with
his
tightly
bound
ankles
.
Jones
was
afraid
he
would
injure
himself
,
and
advanced
to
bind
him
more
firmly
to
some
stationary
object
.
Writhing
,
Rogers
edged
away
from
him
and
set
up
a
series
of
frenetic
ululations
whose
utter
,
monstrous
unhumanness
was
appalling
,
and
whose
sheer
volume
was
almost
incredible
.
It
seemed
impossible
that
any
human
throat
could
produce
noises
so
loud
and
piercing
,
and
Jones
felt
that
if
this
continued
there
would
be
no
need
to
telephone
for
aid
.
It
could
not
be
long
before
a
constable
would
investigate
,
even
granting
that
there
were
no
listening
neighbours
in
this
deserted
warehouse
district
.
"
Wza-y
'
ei
!
Wza-y
'
ei
!
"
howled
the
madman
.
"
Y'
kaa
haa
bho
--
ii
,
Rhan-Tegoth
--
Cthulhu
fhtagn
--
Ei
!
Ei
!
Ei
!
Ei
!
--
Rhan-Tegoth
,
Rhan-Tegoth
,
Rhan-Tegoth
!
"
The
tautly
trussed
creature
,
who
had
started
squirming
his
way
across
the
littered
floor
,
now
reached
the
padlocked
plank
door
and
commenced
knocking
his
head
thunderously
against
it
.
Jones
dreaded
the
task
of
binding
him
further
,
and
wished
he
were
not
so
exhausted
from
the
previous
struggle
.
This
violent
aftermath
was
getting
hideously
on
his
nerves
,
and
he
began
to
feel
a
return
of
the
nameless
qualms
he
had
felt
in
the
dark
.
Everything
about
Rogers
and
his
museum
was
so
hellishly
morbid
and
suggestive
of
black
vistas
beyond
life
!
It
was
loathsome
to
think
of
the
waxen
masterpiece
of
abnormal
genius
which
must
at
this
very
moment
be
lurking
close
at
hand
in
the
blackness
beyond
the
heavy
,
padlocked
door.And
now
something
happened
which
sent
an
additional
chill
down
Jones
's
spine
,
and
caused
every
hair
--
even
the
tiny
growth
on
the
backs
of
his
hands
--
to
bristle
with
a
vague
fright
beyond
classification
.
Rogers
had
suddenly
stopped
screaming
and
beating
his
head
against
the
stout
plank
door
,
and
was
straining
up
to
a
sitting
posture
,
head
cocked
on
one
side
as
if
listening
intently
for
something
.
All
at
once
a
smile
of
devilish
triumph
overspread
his
face
,
and
he
began
speaking
intelligibly
again
--
this
time
in
a
hoarse
whisper
contrasting
oddly
with
his
former
stentorian
howling
.
"
Listen
,
fool
!
Listen
hard
!
It
has
heard
me
,
and
is
coming
.
Ca
n't
you
hear
It
splashing
out
of
Its
tank
down
there
at
the
end
of
the
runway
?
I
dug
it
deep
,
because
there
was
nothing
too
good
for
It
.
It
is
amphibious
,
you
know
--
you
saw
the
gills
in
the
picture
.
It
came
to
the
earth
from
lead-grey
Yuggoth
,
where
the
cities
are
under
the
warm
deep
sea
.
It
ca
n't
stand
up
in
there
--
too
tall
--
has
to
sit
or
crouch
.
Let
me
get
my
keys
--
we
must
let
It
out
and
kneel
down
before
It
.
Then
we
will
go
out
and
find
a
dog
or
cat
--
or
perhaps
a
drunken
man
--
to
give
It
the
nourishment
It
needs
.
"
It
was
not
what
the
madman
said
,
but
the
way
he
said
it
,
that
disorganised
Jones
so
badly
.
The
utter
,
insane
confidence
and
sincerity
in
that
crazed
whisper
were
damnably
contagious
.
Imagination
,
with
such
a
stimulus
,
could
find
an
active
menace
in
the
devilish
wax
figure
that
lurked
unseen
just
beyond
the
heavy
planking
.
Eyeing
the
door
in
unholy
fascination
,
Jones
noticed
that
it
bore
several
distinct
cracks
,
though
no
marks
of
violent
treatment
were
visible
on
this
side
.
He
wondered
how
large
a
room
or
closet
lay
behind
it
,
and
how
the
waxen
figure
was
arranged
.
The
maniac
's
idea
of
a
tank
and
runway
was
as
clever
as
all
his
other
imaginings.Then
,
in
one
terrible
instant
,
Jones
completely
lost
the
power
to
draw
a
breath
.
The
leather
belt
he
had
seized
for
Rogers
'
further
strapping
fell
from
his
limp
hands
,
and
a
spasm
of
shivering
convulsed
him
from
head
to
foot
.
He
might
have
known
the
place
would
drive
him
mad
as
it
had
driven
Rogers
--
and
now
he
was
mad
.
He
was
mad
,
for
he
now
harboured
hallucinations
more
weird
than
any
which
had
assailed
him
earlier
that
night
.
The
madman
was
bidding
him
hear
the
splashing
of
a
mythical
monster
in
a
tank
beyond
the
door
--
and
now
,
God
help
him
,
he
did
hear
it!Rogers
saw
the
spasm
of
horror
reach
Jones
's
face
and
transform
it
to
a
staring
mask
of
fear
.
He
cackled
.
"
At
last
,
fool
,
you
believe
!
At
last
you
know
!
You
hear
It
and
It
comes
!
Get
me
my
keys
,
fool
--
we
must
do
homage
and
serve
It
!
"
But
Jones
was
past
paying
attention
to
any
human
words
,
mad
or
sane
.
Phobic
paralysis
held
him
immobile
and
half-conscious
,
with
wild
images
racing
phantasmagorically
through
his
helpless
imagination
.
There
was
a
splashing
.
There
was
a
padding
or
shuffling
,
as
of
great
wet
paws
on
a
solid
surface
.
Something
was
approaching
.
Into
his
nostrils
,
from
the
cracks
in
that
nightmare
plank
door
,
poured
a
noisome
animal
stench
like
and
yet
unlike
that
of
the
mammal
cages
at
the
zoölogical
gardens
in
Regent
's
Park.He
did
not
know
now
whether
Rogers
was
talking
or
not
.
Everything
real
had
faded
away
,
and
he
was
a
statue
obsessed
with
dreams
and
hallucinations
so
unnatural
that
they
became
almost
objective
and
remote
from
him
.
He
thought
he
heard
a
sniffing
or
snorting
from
the
unknown
gulf
beyond
the
door
,
and
when
a
sudden
baying
,
trumpeting
noise
assailed
his
ears
he
could
not
feel
sure
that
it
came
from
the
tightly
bound
maniac
whose
image
swam
uncertainly
in
his
shaken
vision
.
The
photograph
of
that
accursed
,
unseen
wax
thing
persisted
in
floating
through
his
consciousness
.
Such
a
thing
had
no
right
to
exist
.
Had
it
not
driven
him
mad?Even
as
he
reflected
,
a
fresh
evidence
of
madness
beset
him
.
Something
,
he
thought
,
was
fumbling
with
the
latch
of
the
heavy
padlocked
door
.
It
was
patting
and
pawing
and
pushing
at
the
planks
.
There
was
a
thudding
on
the
stout
wood
,
which
grew
louder
and
louder
.
The
stench
was
horrible
.
And
now
the
assault
on
that
door
from
the
inside
was
a
malign
,
determined
pounding
like
the
strokes
of
a
battering-ram
.
There
was
an
ominous
cracking
--
a
splintering
--
a
welling
foetor
--
a
falling
plank
--
a
black
paw
ending
in
a
crab-like
claw
...
.
"
Help
!
Help
!
God
help
me
!
...
Aaaaaaa
!
...
"
With
intense
effort
Jones
is
today
able
to
recall
a
sudden
bursting
of
his
fear-paralysis
into
the
liberation
of
frenzied
automatic
flight
.
What
he
evidently
did
must
have
paralleled
curiously
the
wild
,
plunging
flights
of
maddest
nightmares
;
for
he
seems
to
have
leaped
across
the
disordered
crypt
at
almost
a
single
bound
,
yanked
open
the
outside
door
,
which
closed
and
locked
itself
after
him
with
a
clatter
,
sprung
up
the
worn
stone
steps
three
at
a
time
,
and
raced
frantically
and
aimlessly
out
of
that
dank
cobblestoned
court
and
through
the
squalid
streets
of
Southwark.Here
the
memory
ends
.
Jones
does
not
know
how
he
got
home
,
and
there
is
no
evidence
of
his
having
hired
a
cab
.
Probably
he
raced
all
the
way
by
blind
instinct
--
over
Waterloo
Bridge
,
along
the
Strand
and
Charing
Cross
,
and
up
Haymarket
and
Regent
Street
to
his
own
neighbourhood
.
He
still
had
on
the
queer
mélange
of
museum
costumes
when
he
grew
conscious
enough
to
call
the
doctor.A
week
later
the
nerve
specialists
allowed
him
to
leave
his
bed
and
walk
in
the
open
air.But
he
had
not
told
the
specialists
much
.
Over
his
whole
experience
hung
a
pall
of
madness
and
nightmare
,
and
he
felt
that
silence
was
the
only
course
.
When
he
was
up
,
he
scanned
intently
all
the
papers
which
had
accumulated
since
that
hideous
night
,
but
found
no
reference
to
anything
queer
at
the
museum
.
How
much
,
after
all
,
had
been
reality
?
Where
did
reality
end
and
morbid
dream
begin
?
Had
his
mind
gone
wholly
to
pieces
in
that
dark
exhibition
chamber
,
and
had
the
whole
fight
with
Rogers
been
a
phantasm
of
fever
?
It
would
help
to
put
him
on
his
feet
if
he
could
settle
some
of
these
maddening
points
.
He
must
have
seen
that
damnable
photograph
of
the
wax
image
called
"
It
"
,
for
no
brain
but
Rogers
'
could
ever
have
conceived
such
a
blasphemy.It
was
a
fortnight
before
he
dared
to
enter
Southwark
Street
again
.
He
went
in
the
middle
of
the
morning
,
when
there
was
the
greatest
amount
of
sane
,
wholesome
activity
around
the
ancient
,
crumbling
shops
and
warehouses
.
The
museum
's
sign
was
still
there
,
and
as
he
approached
he
saw
that
the
place
was
open
.
The
gateman
nodded
in
a
pleasant
recognition
as
he
summoned
up
the
courage
to
enter
,
and
in
the
vaulted
chamber
below
an
attendant
touched
his
cap
cheerfully
.
Perhaps
everything
had
been
a
dream
.
Would
he
dare
to
knock
at
the
door
of
the
workroom
and
look
for
Rogers?Then
Orabona
advanced
to
greet
him
.
His
dark
,
sleek
face
was
a
trifle
sardonic
,
but
Jones
felt
that
he
was
not
unfriendly
.
He
spoke
with
a
trace
of
accent
.
"
Good
morning
,
Mr.
Jones
.
It
is
some
time
since
we
have
seen
you
here
.
Did
you
wish
Mr.
Rogers
?
I
'm
sorry
,
but
he
is
away
.
He
had
word
of
business
in
America
,
and
had
to
go
.
Yes
,
it
was
very
sudden
.
I
am
in
charge
now
--
here
,
and
at
the
house
.
I
try
to
maintain
Mr.
Rogers
'
high
standard
--
till
he
is
back
.
"
The
foreigner
smiled
--
perhaps
from
affability
alone
.
