"The clocks had chimed eleven when I gave up, and I felt physically sick. The air by this time was poisonous, literally poisonous. I dropped into the easy-chair and began to wonder what the end of it would be. Then, in the shadowy parts of the room, outside the circle of light cast by the lamp, I detected--darker patches. For awhile I tried to believe that they were imaginary, but when I saw one move along the bookcase, glide down its side, and come across the carpet, towards me, I knew that they were not. Before heaven, sir"--his voice shook--"either I am mad, or to-night my room was filled with things that _crawled_! They were everywhere; on the floor, on the walls, even on the ceiling above me! Where the light was I couldn't detect them, but the shadows were alive, alive with things--the size of my two hands; and in the growing stillness--" His voice had become husky. Dr. Cairn stood still, as a man of stone, watching him. "In the stillness, very faintly, _they rustled_!" Silence fell. A car passed outside in Half-Moon Street; its throb died away. A clock was chiming the half-hour after midnight. Dr. Cairn spoke: "Anything else?" "One other thing, sir. I was gripping the chair arms; I felt that I had to grip something to prevent myself from slipping into madness. My left hand--" he glanced at it with a sort of repugnance--"something hairy--and indescribably loathsome--touched it; just brushed against it. But it was too much. I'm ashamed to tell you, sir; I screamed, screamed like any hysterical girl, and for the second time, ran! I ran from my own rooms, grabbed a hat and coat; and left my dressing gown on the floor!" He turned, leaning both elbows on the mantel-piece, and buried his face in his hands. "Have another drink," said Dr. Cairn. "You called on Antony Ferrara to-day, didn't you? How did he receive you?" "That brings me to something else I wanted to tell you," continued Robert, squirting soda-water into his glass. "Myra--goes there." "Where--to his chambers?" "Yes." Dr. Cairn began to pace the room again. "I am not surprised," he admitted; "she has always been taught to regard him in the light of a brother. But nevertheless we must put a stop to it. How did you learn this?" Robert Cairn gave him an account of the morning's incidents, describing Ferrara's chambers with a minute exactness which revealed how deep, how indelible an impression their strangeness had made upon his mind. "There is one thing," he concluded, "against which I am always coming up, I puzzled over it at Oxford, and others did, too; I came against it to-day. Who _is_ Antony Ferrara? Where did Sir Michael find him? What kind of woman bore such a son?" "Stop boy!" cried Dr. Cairn. Robert started, looking at his father across the table.