Keppel Stuart, M.D., F. R. S., awoke with a start and discovered
himself to be bathed in cold perspiration. The moonlight shone in at
his window, but did not touch the bed, therefore his awakening could
not be due to this cause. He lay for some time listening for any
unfamiliar noise which might account for the sudden disturbance of
his usually sound slumbers. In the house below nothing stirred. His
windows were widely open and he could detect that vague drumming
which is characteristic of midnight London; sometimes, too, the
clashing of buffers upon some siding of the Brighton railway where
shunting was in progress and occasional siren notes from the Thames.
Otherwise--nothing.

He glanced at the luminous disk of his watch. The hour was half-past
two. Dawn was not far off. The night seemed to have become almost
intolerably hot, and to this heat Stuart felt disposed to ascribe
both his awakening and also a feeling of uncomfortable tension of
which he now became aware. He continued to listen, and, listening
and hearing nothing, recognized with anger that he was frightened.
A sense of some presence oppressed him. Someone or something evil
was near him--perhaps in the room, veiled by the shadows. This
uncanny sensation grew more and more marked.

Stuart sat up in bed, slowly and cautiously, looking all about him.
He remembered to have awakened once thus in India--and to have found
a great cobra coiled at his feet. His inspection revealed the
presence of nothing unfamiliar, and he stepped out on to the floor.

A faint clicking sound reached his ears. He stood quite still. The