Much to his surprise the entrance door was opened, not by the old woman who saw to the care of the building, but by her son who up to this time had kept himself well out of sight. As the light from the lantern fell upon his face, Joseph drew back in alarm; when his father had mentioned the fact that the old woman was living with her son, Joseph had imagined that the son was a youth, or perhaps a boy—he did not expect to see a man who had the face of one of middle age. Yet the term “man” was less applicable to the son than was the word “creature,” for he was lank and thin and bowed over uncannily; long wisps of hair fell about his eyes; his fingers were bony and clawlike; his cheeks were sunken, and his eyes peered out of hollow caverns as if they feared the light. As he moved ahead of Joseph, with the lantern in his hand, he clung to the wall as does a cat, shunning open spaces and skulking as if always needing a rear defense. At the foot of the stairs he stopped. Joseph was about to pass him and begin the ascent when the creature raised one of his hands and passed it over the boy’s shoulder. Joseph heard the long nails scraping on his coat—in a horrible second it seemed as if he could feel them on his skin. The perspiration broke out on his forehead. “What do you want?” “A little—little coin,” whispered the man. Joseph handed him a piece of copper gladly. “Good boy—good boy,” the other mumbled, “bless thee, bless thee. And when you have much that jingles remember Stas. Stas I am, and here I sleep.” He pointed at the door standing open on the lower floor, but Joseph’s eyes did not follow him. His attention was taken suddenly from Stas by a burst of flame that leaped like a live thing from the tiny window of the loft of the alchemist on the fourth floor. It was just a little flare—a small flame that issued through the opened shutter which the alchemist usually kept closed—it died down in a second or even less, but for that instant it lighted up the whole court and the surrounding buildings. “Hey,” said the man, pointing upward—“there they have magic that takes a soul away from a body. . . . See”—there was another flash brighter than the first and longer continued—“there be devils that come to earth with the fire of hell upon them. . . . Their servant is the alchemist, Kreutz, and they have one among us here on earth that is more like them than like us. . . . You know whom I mean?” He swung the lantern close to Joseph’s face, the boy recoiling fearfully. “The student Tring! He it is that would deal with the devil and give him his soul. Have I not heard him at night as he lay awake in his room on the farther side of the court, mumbling and calling and singing? He it is who is the curse of this house. . . . Well, I must sleep. A good night to you.” And he went in through the open door. CHAPTER VII IN THE ALCHEMIST’S LOFT