[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Weird Tales March 1929. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] "I'm glad you came," said Chalmers. He was sitting by the window and his face was very pale. Two tall candles guttered at his elbow and cast a sickly amber light over his long nose and slightly receding chin. Chalmers would have nothing modern about his apartment. He had the soul of a mediæval ascetic, and he preferred illuminated manuscripts to automobiles and leering stone gargoyles to radios and adding-machines.…
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