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no reply. I moved farther into the hallway. Thedarkness retreated a little farther with each step that I advanced, and I was reminded uncomfortably of the bathwater slowly disappearing from the tub until the creature in the water had no option but to expose itself before fleeing. Two steps, four, six, eight, the shadows before me giving way to light, the shadows behind me growing, until, when I reached the stairs, the darkness made its stand. It seemed to me that a deeper blackness was apparent there, and this did not move. It was larger than a man, and slightly hunched. I thought I could discern the shape of its head, although the flickering of the lamp made it difficult to tell, and its form blurred into the shadows at its edges, so that it was at once a part of them and apart from them. Within it were the reflections of unseen stars. It turned, and where its face should have been I had an impression of many sharp angles, as though a plate of black glass had dropped and been frozen in the first moment of its disintegration. I felt blood trickle from the cut in my finger and drop to the floor, and the sniffing commenced again.
    I backed away, and as I moved the shadows advanced once again, and the dark entity moved with them. Faster now they came, and my light grew increasingly ineffectual, the darkness encroaching upon its pool of illumination, slowly smothering it from without. Soon it would be but a glimmer behind the glass, and then it would be gone entirely.
    I flung the poker into the darkness. I acted without thinking, operating purely on instinct, aiming for that mass of shards and angles. The poker spun once in the air, and the heavy handle struck at the center of the black form. With a sound like a million delicate crystals shattering in unison, the shadows rippled in response to some concussive force. I was thrown backward and struck my head hard against the floor, but before I lost consciousness I thought I saw that deeper blackness collapse in upon itself, and a hole was briefly ripped in the fabric of space and time. Through it I glimpsed unknown constellations and a black sun.
    And the face of Lionel Maulding, screaming.



IV
    MRS. GISSING arrived shortly after seven, an older man behind her whom I took, correctly as it turned out, to be Mr. Willox. They found me awake and seated at a table in the library, a cup of tea steaming before me and more in the pot nearby. Mrs. Gissing seemed rather put out by this, as though in venturing to provide for myself I had usurped her natural place in the universe and, more to the point, threatened her livelihood, for if men began to make cups of tea for themselves then soon they might well attempt to cook meals, and do laundry, and next thing poor Mrs. Gissing and her kind would find themselves out on the streets begging for pennies. As if to ensure that this would not come to pass without a struggle, she prepared to bustle her way to the kitchen to make bacon, eggs, and toast, even though I assured her that I was not hungry.
    â€œDid you not sleep well?” she asked.
    â€œNo, I did not,” I said, then ventured a question. “Have you ever spent the night in this house, Mrs. Gissing?”
    I should, perhaps, have phrased the question a little more delicately, as Mrs. Gissing appeared to feel that her reputation as a widow of good standing was being impugned. After some awkward apologies on my part, she chose to take the question in the spirit in which it was asked, and confessed that she had never spent a night under Mr. Maulding’s roof.
    â€œDid he ever complain of noises, or disturbances?” I asked.
    â€œI’m not sure what you mean, sir.”
    I wasn’t sure what I meant, either. The mind plays odd tricks, often to protect itself from harm, and it had already begun the process of consigning the events of the previous night to that place between what we see and what we dream.
    â€œThere was something in my bathtub last night,” I