“The woman then led me up a flight of rickety, wooden steps and into a sepulchral-looking chamber with no other furniture in it save a long, narrow, iron bedstead, a dilapidated washstand, a very unsteady, common deal table, on which was a looking-glass and a collar stud, and a rush-bottomed chair.  Setting the candlestick on the dressing-table, and assuring me again that the bed was well aired, my hostess withdrew, observing as she left the room that she would get me a nice breakfast and call me at seven.  At seven!  How I wished it was seven now!  As I stood in the midst of the floor shivering—­for the room was icy cold, I suddenly saw a dark shadow emerge from a remote corner of the room and slide surreptitiously towards the door, where it halted.  My eyes then fell on the lock, and I perceived that there was no key.  No key!  And that evil-looking pair below!  I must barricade the door somehow.  Yet with what?  There was nothing of any weight in the room!  Nothing!  I began to feel horribly tired and sleepy—­so sleepy that it was only with supreme effort I could prevent my eyelids closing.  Ah!  I had it—­a wedge!  I had a knife.  Of wood there was plenty—­a piece off the washstand, table, or chair.  Anything would suffice.  I essayed to struggle to the chair, my limbs tottered, my eyelids closed.  Then the shadow from the doorway moved towards and THROUGH me, and with the coldness of its passage I revived!  With desperate energy I cut a couple of chunks off the washstand, and paring them down, eventually succeeded in slipping them in the crack of the door, and rendering it impossible to open from the outside.  That done, I staggered to the bed, and falling, dressed as I was, on the counterpane, sank into a deep sleep.  How long I slept I cannot say.  I suddenly heard the loud neighing of a horse which seemed to come from just under my window, and, as in a vision, saw by my side in the bed a something which gradually developed into the figure of a man, the counterpart of the mysterious being in the shaggy coat who had guided me to the house.  He was fully dressed, sound asleep and breathing heavily.  As I was looking a dark shadow fell across the sleeper’s face, and on glancing up I perceived, to my horror, a black something crawling on the floor.  Nearer and nearer it came, until it reached the side of the bed, when I immediately recognized the evil, smirking face of my hostess.  In one hand she held a lamp and in the other a horn-handled knife.  Setting the lamp on the floor, she coolly undid the collar of the sleeping man, and I saw a stud, the counterpart of the one on the dressing-table, fall on the bare boards with a sharp tap, and disappear in the surrounding darkness.  Then the woman felt the edge of the knife with her repulsive thumb, and calmly cut the helpless man’s throat.  I screamed—­and the murderess and her victim instantly vanished—­and I realized I was alone in the room and very much awake.  Whether all that had occurred was a dream, I cannot say with certainty, though I am inclined to think not.