_Nobody knew that Gruin had killed his sweetheart, but her little red heels tapped a march of death wherever he went, driving him to a desperate resolve._ There are two kinds of fear. There is fear of the known--terror of death or disease or accident, or of social consequences of wrong actions. This is bad enough, but it is a little thing compared to fear of the unknown. _That_ is the horror that freezes your brain and stops your breath in your throat; _that_ is the terror that wrings sweat in icy drops from your clammy skin. Somewhere near you a black force lurks, some shadow from a hell incomprehensible to mortal mind, some _thing_ from another world which looms over you and threatens you…
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