SHE COULD see nothing. Fighting like a tiger to free herself, her other hand passed through the bars and caught a wild tangle of beard.
“Hush!” The voice was deep, supulchral. “I will not harm you if you tell me what you do here.”
It was human, at any rate, more human than the thing that had been chasing her.
“I am Sybil—Lansdown,” she gasped. “I came down here to get away from—a horrible—”
“So!” The grip on her wrist relaxed. “I will open the door. Stand back, if you please; do not move until I have lit the lamp.”
The door was opened and she nearly fell through.
She saw a flicker of flame, heard a glass globe tinkle. He had lit a small kerosene lamp, which cast an eerie light upon the weird scene. She looked at the man curiously. His sallow, lined face; his long black beard, which,
