He had heard nothing and seen nothing, but he knew, even before he turned, that he was no longer alone in the vault. His heart was hammering and he could feel the cold sweat break out on his forehead. Mustering his last shred of will power, he forced himself to turn around. Weakly, he leaned back against the book shelves. Preston Haver stood inside the vault door, half in shadow. He looked yellower and bonier than ever and his gaunt mirthless grin seemed more grotesque. Nodding and still grinning, he shuffled forward. "I see you're shelving my books!" His voice was cracked and thin. It sounded to Newling as if it came from the far end of the corridor. Newling stammered. "You, you have a fine collection, Mr. Haver. We're putting the--the best ones--here in the vault." Preston Haver's ghastly grin widened. His long yellow eye-teeth looked like fangs, Newling thought. He peered at the librarian with his reddish eyes. "There's just one"--his eyes roved the shelves--"one that I sent by mistake. I want it back." Newling nodded. "Of course. Could you--ah--describe it, sir?" The visitor stared at him, with a kind of enigmatic smirk. "A small book, with a soft cover. I'm sure you'd have it here. It's rare--oh, very rare!" He threw back his head and laughed, while Newling listened in horrified fascination. He had never heard Preston Haver laugh before. He hoped he never did again. Regaining some measure of composure, Newling turned to the shelves and began a systematic scrutiny. He felt thoroughly chilled, chilled to the very marrow. Of course it was imagination, but Preston Haver's presence seemed to have immeasurably intensified the oppressive clammy atmosphere of the vault. Newling sighed with relief when he spotted the book. His unwelcome visitor literally snatched it out of his hand, a quick gleam of triumph in his glowing eyes. He chuckled with glee. Newling recoiled from his evil grin. Preston Haver peered up at him with an air of confidence which he found utterly repellent. "This cover," he said, stroking it fondly with his bony hand. "Human skin!" Newling stared at it, horrified. It was a pale, grey-yellow, mottled looking. "Human skin!" his visitor hissed again. Newling wiped the perspiration from his face. He felt weak and he suddenly realized that he was actually trembling. "I'm sure it's--quite a treasure," he managed. Preston Haver nodded. "Quite a treasure! You see," he went on, again with that odd air of confidence which Newling found revolting, "I'm starting on a trip--a long trip--and I couldn't leave without this book!" Newling's voice was scarcely a whisper. "I'm glad you, we, found it." His visitor moved toward the vault door. Just before reaching it, he turned, and his red eyes sought out the librarian's. His face contorted into one last, lingering malignant grin and then he was gone.