Red heels clicking always with him as he walked, stopping when he stopped, beginning again when he moved ... the red heels of Maria who had been sent by him to death over the edge of a cliff.... * * * * * He drove in his coupé to the street-end where the roadster had crashed over the wooden barrier and plummeted to piles of rock below, while he hung from the branch over the road. There was no wooden barrier there now. There was a concrete wall, hastily erected after the "accident." It was a thick wall. It would stand any shock. Or--would it? Gruin got out of the coupé and went to the wall. As he strode, beside him sounded the quick, half-dancing, half-marching accompaniment. Gruin shuddered, as much with cold as with ever-present horror. He weighed only a hundred and twenty pounds, as against his former hundred and eighty, and the winter wind seemed to go through his coat and to his bones. The wall was pretty solid. He walked along it. And, click, click, click, click, walked the unseen Thing beside him. "Solid," he said aloud, chuckling a little and then jerking his head around to see if anyone had heard him. "Not so easy to send anybody over the edge here, now." He stood on top of the wall and stared down. The piles of crushed stone were still there; it had been too cold for work on the dock. "That's where you went, damn you," he mumbled to the Thing in the phantom red heels that clicked beside him. Beside him--even as he walked down the wall with nothing but thin air on either side. He began to chuckle again, aloud, craftily. "Nobody's ever suspected, except your father. And he can't hurt me any. Nobody knows I killed you." He stepped down from the wall. And beside him a click sounded, a little louder than usual, the click of a red heel coming down from the two-foot step from the top of the wall. "_Damn you!_" Gruin shouted. And then he pressed his hand to his lips. On the highway, several blocks away, a hitch-hiker stared curiously at him, then went on his way, signaling for rides. "Shouldn't be out here," Gruin muttered laboriously. He started for the coupé, parked a dozen yards from the new concrete wall. Dully he strode toward it. And as he walked, with each step came the accompanying small tap of little red heels, almost coinciding with his step on the ice of the road. "Better not come out here again," he mumbled, "I'm safe now. But somebody might see me here and think it was funny--might start investigating the accident again." He got into the coupé, settling laboriously behind the wheel. And then, as his eyes strayed sideways, his teeth met through his upper lip. Always when he got into his car--which was often, as he drove a great deal to save walking and hearing the tapping heels beside him--he strove to keep his eyes from going sideways, to the cushion beside him. And always he was unsuccessful.