as pushed open still farther. For a space
of five seconds my heart seemed to stop beating, and then the worst
came. You will think I was beside myself; but as the door was pushed
open a face peeped round behind it, and I saw two green eyes looking at
me! I had at once recognised the face, and the face was that of Ombos!
He appeared to smile at me, but it was a leer of inscrutable evil and
malevolence, and I took up my rifle and fired at a venture. A howl of
pain, hoarse with anger, rent the air, and the face vanished.... I
rushed downstairs and into the library. As I entered, the body of
Travers came twisting across the room like a penny whirligig. His head
struck the marble fire-place with a frightful dull thud, and he fell a
motionless heap on the floor. I struck straight in front of me with a
rifle--and hit something--something that pushed past me. Then the front
door opened and shut with a deafening clang. A sudden qualm of real fear
took hold of my heart, but, mastering it as best I could, I opened the
front door and tore madly down the drive. I looked down the hushed
street. Past the lamp-posts, skipping from the gloom into the light and
from light into shadow, with a series of bounds, sped a horrible apish
form. It bounded along with incredible fleetness, and was soon lost to
view in the distant gloom. Just at that moment Clayton came down the
drive. I could not speak. I pointed to the library.... I beckoned him to
follow. On the floor lay the dead body of John Travers. The statue of
Albertus Magnus had vanished!

"And there the story ends. I can give no explanation whatever, beyond
what I have related. The bronze figure has never, so far as I know, been
seen again, nor has the restless spirit of poor Ombos walked again in
our garden and library. But, taking the circumstances into
consideration, the whole train of events points to the fact that Ombos
_had_ in some occult way passed his ethereal body into that statue, and
for that very reason he was unable to rest quietly in his grave."

"You will continue to live in the house at Abbot's Ely, of course," said
Duckford.

Crabbe shook his head. "Never! I wrote a week ago putting it in the
agent's hands for sale. There may be nothing in it, but I hardly want to
make any new experiments now. The bronze statue has disappeared. I
should like to think it was stolen by a gang of burglars. But I
remember that chuckle--the malicious mirth of some unearthly thing, it
seem