“I bring the Marquis d’Aubremel the monies he is expecting,” said the man, and his voice, shrill and silvery, like a musical box or the bell of a clock, impressed Felix painfully.  The voice grated on the nerves.  “I have drawn a receipt in regular form,” said Felix, extending his hand.  But the solicitor’s clerk leaned his back against the door, without stirring a step.  “Well, sir,” Felix exclaimed with a convulsive effort.  The man approached slowly, scarcely moving his feet, as if sliding across the floor.  His right hand was buried in his coat pocket; he held his head bent down, and his lips moved inaudibly.  At last he pulled from his pocket a large bundle of banknotes, bills and papers, drew near the window, and began to count them carefully.

Felix was then struck by a strange phenomenon that might well inspire undefined terror.  Standing directly in front of the window, the clerk’s figure cast no shadow, though the sun’s rays fell full upon it, and through his human body, translucent as rock crystal, Felix plainly saw the houses across the street.  Then his eyes seemed to be suddenly unsealed.  The clerk’s black coat took colors, blue, green, and scarlet; it lengthened out into the folds of a robe, and blazed with the dazzling image of the fire-dragon, the son of Buddha; a lock of stiff grayish hair sprouted like a short tuft out of his yellowish skull; his round tawny eyes rolled with frightful rapidity in their sockets.

Felix recognized Li, son of Mung, son of Tseu, the literate mandarin of the 114th class.  The murderer had never seen his victim, but could not doubt his identity a moment, thanks to the marvelous resemblance between the solicitor’s clerk and the china monster that dropped into bits at his feet the night of January 12th, 1840.

Meantime the man had done counting his package, and held it out to Felix, saying, in his grating, vibrating tones, “Monsieur le Marquis, here are forty thousand pounds sterling; please to give me your receipt.”  And Felix heard the voice say in a shriller under-key, “Felix, here is an instalment of the million, the price of your crime.  Felix, my assassin, take this money from my hand.”

“From my hand,” echoed a thousand fine voices, quivering all through the air of the room.

“No, no,” cried Felix, pushing the clerk away, “the money would burn me!  Begone with you!”

He dropped exhausted into a chair, half suffocated, with drops of sweat rolling down his convulsed face.  The man bowed to the floor, and slowly moved away backwards.  With every gradual step Felix saw his natural shape return.  The rays of the autumn sun ceased to light up that mysterious apparition, and only his attorney’s humble clerk stood before Felix.  With a rush overpowering his will, Felix dashed after the old man, already across the threshold, and overtook him on the staircase.

“My papers!” he shouted imperiously.  “Here they are, sir,” said the old fellow quietly.