a shot, right in the middle of things, I found myself
wondering about poor Price. And I wasn't only wondering somehow I was
horribly uneasy about him. It came to me that I had been heartless to
leave him all alone with the statue. At last I couldn't stand the strain
any longer. I got up.

"'Vicar,' I said, 'I'm going back to see if Price is all right. It will
sound quite mad to you, I expect, but if you want to know the sober
truth, I will tell you that I have just seen him in a vision: he was in
trouble, I know. But come, let us get into the car. I have never told
anyone my whole story yet, but I shall like to tell you about Ombos and
his statue. I will tell you on the way back to Abbot's Ely. It is about
time, in fact, that I tried to classify what I have learned.'

"I then briefly related the story of Ombos and our acquaintance. I
concealed nothing, dwelling on the irresistible alluring influence of
the bronze statue. I described the depression, the despair, the
overpowering moral weakness which seemed to follow me since the
Albertus Magnus had become one of my possessions. In short, I lifted the
curtain, for the first time, and showed the vicar a true picture of the
strange world I had moved in for the last few weeks.

"When we had returned and backed the car into the coach house we walked
across the lawn to the back door. Here we met Clayton, the butler. He
appeared to be frightened, and told me that he had heard a kind of
quivering, sobbing voice coming from the library. He thought Mr. Price
was ill. We went to the door. It was locked, and an application of a
spare key proved that the other key had been left in the lock inside. We
knocked loudly, and called. There was no reply. Clayton's conviction
that 'something had happened' worked on my nerves frightfully, and in
the end the vicar and I forced open the door with some gardening tools.

"Something _had_ happened.

"The room was in complete darkness, and at first nothing could be
discerned at all. A slight wind had got up in the last half an hour; and
it rustled the trailers of ivy against the opened windows. The heavy
curtains moved carelessly in the draught, and the trees creaked faintly.
But beyond these inevitable noises, the room was quiet. Then gradually,
the outline of the room became visible and the framework of the window
began to shape itself dimly before my eyes. In the hazy light from the
glass doors, and the vague light of a lamp in the hall, I