“The power to move, or to think out any mode of resistance, was fast leaving me, when there rose, in the distance as it were, a tremendous commotion.  A door opened with a clatter, and I heard the peremptory and commanding tones of a human voice calling aloud in a language I could not comprehend.  It was Smith, my fellow-lodger, calling up the stairs; and his voice had not sounded for more than a few seconds, when I felt something withdrawn from my presence, from my person, indeed from my very skin.  It seemed as if there was a rushing of air and some large creature swept by me at about the level of my shoulders.  Instantly the pressure on my heart was relieved, and the atmosphere seemed to resume its normal condition.

“Smith’s door closed quietly downstairs, as I put the lamp down with trembling hands.  What had happened I do not know; only, I was alone again and my strength was returning as rapidly as it had left me.

“I went across the room and examined myself in the glass.  The skin was very pale, and the eyes dull.  My temperature, I found, was a little below normal and my pulse faint and irregular.  But these smaller signs of disturbance were as nothing compared with the feeling I had—­though no outward signs bore testimony to the fact—­that I had narrowly escaped a real and ghastly catastrophe.  I felt shaken, somehow, shaken to the very roots of my being.”

The doctor rose from his chair and crossed over to the dying fire, so that no one could see the expression on his face as he stood with his back to the grate, and continued his weird tale.

“It would be wearisome,” he went on in a lower voice, looking over our heads as though he still saw the dingy top floor of that haunted Edinburgh lodging-house; “it would be tedious for me at this length of time to analyse my feelings, or attempt to reproduce for you the thorough examination to which I endeavoured then to subject my whole being, intellectual, emotional, and physical.  I need only mention the dominant emotion with which this curious episode left me—­the indignant anger against myself that I could ever have lost my self-control enough to come under the sway of so gross and absurd a delusion.  This protest, however, I remember making with all the emphasis possible.  And I also remember noting that it brought me very little satisfaction, for it was the protest of my reason only, when all the rest of my being was up in arms against its conclusions.

“My dealings with the ‘delusion,’ however, were not yet over for the night; for very early next morning, somewhere about three o’clock, I was awakened by a curiously stealthy noise in the room, and the next minute there followed a crash as if all my books had been swept bodily from their shelf on to the floor.

“But this time I was not frightened.  Cursing the disturbance with all the resounding and harmless words I could accumulate, I jumped out of bed and lit the candle in a second, and in the first dazzle of the flaring match—­but before the wick had time to catch—­I was certain I saw a dark grey shadow, of ungainly shape, and with something more or less like a human head, drive rapidly past the side of the wall farthest from me and disappear into the gloom by the angle of the door.