“So I asked Melrose, who told me he hadn’t mentioned the matter to a soul, but had discreetly removed Clinton’s name from the list of candidates for election. And no one should have been any the wiser; but how much wiser Clinton was! “A week later I got another letter from him, saying that he was leaving England for a month. He enclosed a funny little paper pattern thing, an outline cut out with scissors with a figure painted on it, a beastly-looking thing. Like this!” And he drew a quick sketch on the table-cloth. Certainly it was unpleasant, thought Bellamy. It appeared to be a crouching figure in the posture of pursuit. The robes it wore seemed to rise and billow above its head. Its arms were long--too long--scraping the ground with curved and spiked nails. Its head was not quite human, its expression devilish and venomous. A horrid, hunting thing, its eyes encarnadined and infinitely evil, glowing animal eyes in the foul dark face. And those long vile arms--not pleasant to be in their grip. He hadn’t realised Philip could draw as well as that. He straightened himself, lit a cigarette, and rallied his fighting powers. For the first time he realised, why, that Philip was in serious trouble! Just a rather beastly little sketch on a table-cloth. And now it was up to him! “Clinton told me,” continued Philip, “that this was a most powerful symbol which I should find of the greatest help in my mystical studies. I must place it against my forehead, and pronounce at the same time a certain sentence. And, Teddie, suddenly, I found myself doing so. I remember I had a sharp feeling of surprise and irritation when I found I had placarded this thing on my head and repeated this sentence.” “What was the sentence?” asked Bellamy. “Well, that’s a funny thing,” said Philip. “I can’t remember it, and both the slip of paper on which it was written and the paper pattern had disappeared the next morning. I remember putting them in my pocket book, but they completely vanished. And, Teddie, things haven’t been the same since.” He filled his glass and emptied it, lit a cigarette, and at once pressed the life from it in an ash tray and then lit another. “Bluntly, I’ve been bothered, haunted perhaps is too strong a word--too pompous. It’s like this. That same night I had read myself tired in the study, and about twelve o’clock I was glancing sleepily around the room when I noticed that one of the bookcases was throwing out a curious and unaccountable shadow. It seemed as if something was hiding behind the bookcase, and that this was that something’s shadow. I got up and walked over to it, and it became just a bookcase shadow, rectangular and reassuring. I went to bed.