Here in your
accursed chamber you performed unspeakable rituals to drive Evelyn
Gordon's soul from her body, and to cause that body to be possessed by
that godless sprite from _outside_ the human universe. "She was too clean and wholesome, her love for her husband too strong,
for the fiend to gain complete and permanent possession of her body;
only for brief instants could it drive her own spirit into the void and
animate her form. But that was enough for your purpose. But you have
brought ruin upon yourself by your vengeance!" [Illustration: "Only for brief instants could it drive her spirit into
the void and animate her form."] Kirowan's voice rose to a feline screech. "What was the price demanded by the fiend you drew from the Pits? Ha,
you blench! Yosef Vrolok is not the only man to have learned forbidden
secrets! After I left Hungary, a broken man, I took up again the study
of the black arts, to trap you, you cringing serpent! I explored the
ruins of Zimbabwe, the lost mountains of inner Mongolia, and the
forgotten jungle islands of the southern seas. I learned what sickened
my soul so that I forswore occultism for ever--but I learned of the
black spirit that deals death by the hand of a beloved one, and is
controlled by a master of magic. "But, Yosef Vrolok, you are not an adept! You have not the power to
control the fiend you have invoked. And you have sold your soul!" The Hungarian tore at his collar as if it were a strangling noose. His
face had changed, as if a mask had dropped away; he looked much older. "You lie!" he panted. "I did not promise him _my_ soul----"

"I do not lie!" Kirowan's shriek was shocking in its wild exultation. "I know the price a man must pay for calling forth the nameless shape
that roams the gulfs of Darkness. Look! There in the corner behind
you! A nameless, sightless thing is laughing--is mocking you! It has
fulfilled its bargain, and it has come for you, Yosef Vrolok!" "No!" shrieked Vrolok, tearing his limp collar away from his sweating
throat. His composure had crumpled, and his demoralization was
sickening to see. "I tell you it was not _my_ soul--I promised it a
soul, but not _my_ soul--he must take the soul of the girl, or of James
Gordon----"

"Fool!" roared Kirowan. "Do you think _he_ could take the souls of
innocents? That he would not know they were beyond his reach? The girl
and the youth he could kill; their souls were not his to take or yours
to give. But _your_ black soul is not beyond his reach, and he will
have his wage. _Look!_ He is materializing behind you! He is growing
out of thin air!" Was it the hypnosis inspired by Kirowan's burning words that caused me
to shudder and grow cold, to feel an icy chill that was not of earth
pervade the room? Was it a trick of light and shadow that seemed to
produce the effect of a black anthropomorphic shadow on the wall
behind the Hungarian? _No_, by heaven! It grew, it swelled--Vrolok had
not turned. He stared at Kirowan with eyes starting from his head, hair
standing stiffly on his scalp, sweat dripping from his livid face. Kirowan's cry started shudders down my spine. "Look behind you, fool! _I see him!_ He has come! He is here! His
grisly mouth gapes in awful laughter! His mis-shapen paws reach for
you!" And then at last Vrolok wheeled, with an awful shriek, throwing
his arms above his head in a gesture of wild despair. And for one
brain-shattering instant he was _blotted out_ by a great black
shadow--Kirowan grasped my arm and we fled from that accursed chamber,
blind with horror. *       *       *       *       *

The same paper which bore a brief item telling of James Gordon having
suffered a slight scalp-wound by the accidental discharge of a pistol
in his home, headlined the sudden death of Joseph Roelocke, wealthy
and eccentric clubman, in his sumptuous apartments--apparently from
heart-failure. I read it at breakfast, while I drank cup after cup of black coffee,
from a hand that was not too steady, even after the lapse of a night. Across the table from me Kirowan likewise seemed to lack appetite. He
brooded, as if he roamed again through bygone years. "Gordon's fantastic theory of reincarnation was wild enough," I said
at last. "But the actual facts were still more incredible. Tell me,
Kirowan, was that last scene the result of hypnosis? Was it the power
of your words that made me seem to see a black horror grow out of the
air and rip Yosef Vrolok's soul from his living body?" He shook his head. "No human hypnotism would strike that black-hearted
devil dead on the floor. No; there are beings outside the ken of common
humanity, foul shapes of transcosmic evil. Such a one it was with which
Vrolok dealt." "But how could it claim his soul?" I persisted. "If indeed such an
awful bargain had been struck, it had not fulfilled its part, for James
Gordon was not dead, but merely knocked senseless." "Vrolok did not know it," answered Kirowan. "He thought that Gordon
was dead, and I convinced him that he himself had been trapped, and
was doomed. In his demoralization he fell easy prey to the thing he
had called forth. _It_, of course, was always watching for a moment of
weakness on his part. The powers of Darkness never deal fairly with
human beings; he who traffics with them is always cheated in the end." "It's a mad nightmare," I muttered. "But it seems to me, then, that you
as much as anything else brought about Vrolok's death." "It is gratifying to think so," Kirowan answered. "Evelyn Gordon is
safe now; and it is a small repayment for what he did to another girl,