It was then that I became aware of the odor in the room. It was a pungent, indescribable odor, so nauseous that I could scarcely endure it. I stepped quickly to the window and threw it open. When I returned to Chalmers and looked into his eyes I nearly fainted. "I think they have scented me!" he shrieked. "They are slowly turning toward me." He was trembling horribly. For a moment he clawed at the air with his hands. Then his legs gave way beneath him and he fell forward on his face, slobbering and moaning. I watched him in silence as he dragged himself across the floor. He was no longer a man. His teeth were bared and saliva dripped from the corners of his mouth. "Chalmers," I cried. "Chalmers, stop it! Stop it, do you hear?" As if in reply to my appeal he commenced to utter hoarse convulsive sounds which resembled nothing so much as the barking of a dog, and began a sort of hideous writhing in a circle about the room. I bent and seized him by the shoulders. Violently, desperately, I shook him. He turned his head and snapped at my wrist. I was sick with horror, but I dared not release him for fear that he would destroy himself in a paroxysm of rage. "Chalmers," I muttered, "you must stop that. There is nothing in this room that can harm you. Do you understand?" I continued to shake and admonish him, and gradually the madness died out of his face. Shivering convulsively, he crumpled into a grotesque heap on the Chinese rug. * * * * * I carried him to the sofa and deposited him upon it. His features were twisted in pain, and I knew that he was still struggling dumbly to escape from abominable memories. "Whisky," he muttered. "You'll find a flask in the cabinet by the window--upper left-hand drawer." When I handed him the flask his fingers tightened about it until the knuckles showed blue. "They nearly got me," he gasped. He drained the stimulant in immoderate gulps, and gradually the color crept back into his face. "That drug was the very devil!" I murmured. "It wasn't the drug," he moaned. His eyes no longer glared insanely, but he still wore the look of a lost soul. "They scented me in time," he moaned. "I went too far." "What were _they_ like?" I said, to humor him. He leaned forward and gripped my arm. He was shivering horribly. "No word in our language can describe them!" He spoke in a hoarse whisper. "They are symbolized vaguely in the myth of the Fall, and in an obscene form which is occasionally found engraven on ancient tablets. The Greeks had a name for them, which veiled their essential foulness. The tree, the snake and the apple--these are the vague symbols of a most awful mystery." His voice had risen to a scream. "Frank, Frank, a terrible and unspeakable _deed_ was done in the beginning. Before time, the _deed_, and from the deed----" He had risen and was hysterically pacing the room. "The seeds of the deed move through angles in dim recesses of time. They are hungry and athirst!"