He also heard vile phrases addressed to him by Mersereau, the iterated and reiterated words “murderer” and “swindler” and “cheat,” there in the middle of the night. Often, although the light was still on, he saw as many as seven dark figures, very much like Mersereau’s, although different, gathered close about him,—like men in consultation—evil men. Some of them sat upon his bed, and it seemed as if they were about to help Mersereau to finish him, adding their hands to his. Behind them again was a complete circle of all those evil, swimming things with green and red eyes, always watching—helping, probably. He had actually felt the pressure of the hand to grow stronger of late, when they were all there. Only, just before he felt he was going to faint, and because he could not spring up any more, he invariably screamed or gasped a choking gasp and held his finger on the button which would bring Miss Koehler. Then she would come, lift him up, and fix his pillows. She also always assured him that it was only the inflammation of his throat, and rubbed it with alcohol, and gave him a few drops of something internally to ease it. After all this time, and in spite of anything he could tell them, they still believed, or pretended to believe, that he was suffering from tuberculosis, and that all the rest of this was delusion, a phase of insanity! And Mersereau’s skeleton still out there on the Monte Orte! And Mersereau’s plan, with the help of others, of course, was to choke him to death, there was no doubt of that now; and yet they would believe after he was gone that he had died of tuberculosis of the throat. Think of that. XII—MIDNIGHT OF FEBRUARY 10, 1909 THE GHOST OF MERSEREAU (_bending over Davidson_): “Softly! Softly! He’s quite asleep! He didn’t think we could get him—that I could! But this time,—yes. Miss Koehler is asleep at the end of the hall and Miss Liggett can’t come, can’t hear. He’s too weak now. He can scarcely move or groan. Strengthen my hand, will you! I will grip him so tight this time that he won’t get away! His cries won’t help him this time! He can’t cry as he once did! Now! Now!” A CLOUD OF EVIL SPIRITS (_swimming about_): “Right! Right! Good! Good! Now! Ah!” DAVIDSON (_waking, choking, screaming, and feebly striking out_): “Help! Help! H-e-l-p! Miss—Miss—H—e—l—p!” MISS LIGGETT (_dozing heavily in her chair_): “Everything is still. No one restless. I can sleep.” (Her head nods.) THE CLOUD OF EVIL SPIRITS: “Good! Good! Good! His soul at last! Here it comes! He couldn’t escape this time! Ah! Good! Good! Now!” MERSEREAU (_to Davidson_): “You murderer! At last! At last!” XIII—3 A.M. OF FEBRUARY 17, 1909