murk an alien and inimical intelligence skulked.

Baffled by powers of patience and immobility that mocked his own, he
moved again, edging toward the entrance-hall, a progress so gradual he
could have sworn it must be imperceptible. Yet he had a feeling, a
suspicion, perhaps merely a fear, that he did not stir a finger without
the other's knowledge.

A hand extended about a foot encountered the back of an upholstered
chair, which he identified by touch. Assuming the chair to be occupying
its usual position, he need only continue in a line parallel with the
line of its back to find the entrance-hall in about six paces.

Within three he stopped dead, as if paralysed by sudden instinctive
perception of that other presence close by.

Whether he had drawn near to it, inch by inch, or whether it, seeing
him about to make good his escape, had crept up on him, he could not
say. He only knew that it was there, within arm's-length, waiting,
tense, prepared, and somehow deadly in its animosity.

Digging the nails deep into the palms of his hands, until the pain
relieved his nervous tension, he waited once more, one minute, two,
three.

But nothing ...

Then very slowly he lifted an arm, and swept it before him right and
left. At one point of the arc, a trifle to his left, his finger-tips
brushed something. He thought he detected a stir in the darkness, a