ricken terror, the point of the pencil dropped to
the tablecloth and slowly, precisely, it started to move. He stared,
hypnotized, unbelieving, with the fingers of madness probing at his
brain. The pencil wrote:

Wilson, you sold me out.

The man at the table tried to speak, tried to shriek, but his tongue and
throat were dry and only harsh breath rattled in his mouth.

The pencil moved on mercilessly:

But you will pay. No matter where you go, I will find you. You
cannot hide from me.

The pencil slowly lifted its point from the table and suddenly was gone,
as if it had never been. Wilson, eyes wide and filled with terrible
fear, stared at the black words on the cloth.

Wilson, you sold me out. But you will pay. No matter where you go, I
will find you. You cannot hide from me.

The music pulsated in the room, the hum of conversation ran like an
undertone, but Wilson did not hear. His entire consciousness was
centered on the writing, the letters and the words that filled his soul
with dread.

Something seemed to snap within him. The cold wind of terror reached out
and struck at him. He staggered from the chair. His hand swept the wine
glass from the table and it shattered into chiming shards.

"They can't do this to me!" he shrieked.

There was a silence in the room a silence of terrible accusation.
Everyone was staring at him. Eyebrows raised.

* * * * *

A waiter was at his elbow. "Do you feel ill, sir?"

And then, on unsteady feet, he was being led away. Behind him he heard
the music once again, heard the rising hum of voices.

Someone set his hat on his head, was holding his coat. The cold air of
the night struck his face and the doors sighed closed behind him.

"I'd take it easy going down the step, sir," counseled the doorman.

An aero-taxi driver held open the door of the cab and saluted.

"Where to, sir?"

Wilson stumbled in and stammered out his address. The taxi droned into
the traffic lane.

Hands twitching, Wilson fumbled with the key, took minutes to open the
door into his apartment. Finally the lock clicked and he pushed open the
door. His questing finger found the wall switch. Light flooded the room.

Wilson heaved a sigh of relief. He felt safe here. This place belonged
to him. It was his home, his retreat....

A low laugh, hardly more than a chuckle, sounded behind him. He whirled
and for a moment, blinking in the light, he saw