Before Carson could protest he had caught the writer by the shoulders and was peering closely into his eyes. Startled, Carson drew back, but not before he had seen an extraordinary expression of mingled apprehension and satisfaction appear on Leigh’s gaunt face. It was as though the occultist had seen something unpleasant—but not unexpected. “What’s the idea?” Carson asked harshly. “I’m not accustomed——” “I’m very sorry,” Leigh said. His voice was deep, pleasant. “I must apologize. I thought—well, again I apologize. I’m rather excited, I’m afraid. You see, I’ve come from San Francisco to see this Witch Room of yours. Would you really mind letting me see it? I should be glad to pay any sum——” Carson made a deprecatory gesture. “No,” he said, feeling a perverse liking for this man growing within him—his well-modulated, pleasant voice, his powerful face, his magnetic personality. “No, I merely want a little peace—you have no idea how I’ve been bothered,” he went on, vaguely surprized to find himself speaking apologetically. “It’s a frightful nuisance. I almost wish I’d never found the room.” Leigh leaned forward anxiously. “May I see it? It means a great deal to me—I’m vitally interested in these things. I promise not to take up more than ten minutes of your time.” Carson hesitated, then assented. As he led his guest into the cellar he found himself telling the circumstances of his discovery of the Witch Room. Leigh listened intently, occasionally interrupting with questions. “The rat—did you see what became of it?” he asked. Carson looked surprized. “Why, no. I suppose it hid in its burrow. Why?” “One never knows,” Leigh said cryptically as they came into the Witch Room. * * * * * Carson switched on the light. He had had an electrical extension installed, and there were a few chairs and a table, but otherwise the chamber was unchanged. Carson watched the occultist’s face, and with surprize saw it become grim, almost angry. Leigh strode to the center of the room, staring at the chair that stood on the black circle of stone. “You work here?” he asked slowly. “Yes. It’s quiet—I found I couldn’t work upstairs. Too noisy. But this is ideal—somehow I find it very easy to write here. My mind feels”—he hesitated—“free; that is, disassociated with other things. It’s quite an unusual feeling.” Leigh nodded as though Carson’s words had confirmed some idea in his own mind. He turned toward the alcove and the metal disk in the floor. Carson followed him. The occultist moved close to the wall, tracing out the faded symbols with a long forefinger. He muttered something under his breath—words that sounded like gibberish to Carson. “_Nyogtha_ ... _k’yarnak_....” He swung about, his face grim and pale. “I’ve seen enough,” he said softly, “Shall we go?” Surprized, Carson nodded and led the way back into the cellar.