or no, I did not sleep again that
night. I sat in the parlor among the lamps, smoking and dipping into
book after book. Countless times I felt my gaze drawn back to the
painting over the fireplace, with the cross and the nail-pierced wretch
and the shimmering pink dancers.

After the rising sun had filled the apartment with its honest light and
cheer I felt considerably calmer. I slept all morning, and in the
afternoon was disposed to agree with Miss Dolby that the whole business
had been a bad dream, nothing more. Dressing, I went down the hall,
knocked on her door and invited her to dinner with me.

It was a good dinner. Afterward we went to an amusing motion picture,
with Charles Butterworth in it as I remember. After bidding her
good-night, I went to my own place. Undressed and in bed, I lay awake.
My late morning slumber made my eyes slow to close. Thus it was that I
heard the faint shuffle of feet and, sitting up against my pillows, saw
the glowing silhouettes of the Golgotha dancers. Alive and magnified,
they were creeping into my bedroom.

I did not hesitate or shrink this time. I sprang up, tense and defiant.

"No, you don't!" I yelled at them. As they seemed to hesitate before the
impact of my wild voice, I charged frantically. For a moment I scattered
them and got through the bedroom door, as on the previous night. There
was another shindy in the entry; this time they all got hold of me, like
a pack of hounds, and wrestled me back against the wall. I writhe even
now when I think of the unearthly hardness of their little gripping
paws. Two on each arm were spread-eagling me upon the plaster. The
cruciform position again!

I swore, yelled and kicked. One of them was in the way of my foot. He
floated back, unhurt. That was their strength and horror--their ability
to go flabby and non-resistant under smashing, flattening blows.
Something tickled my palm, pricked it. The point of a spike....

"Miss Dolby!" I shrieked, as a child might call for its mother. "Help!
Miss D----"

The door flew open; I must not have locked it. "Here I am," came her
unafraid reply.

She was outlined against the rectangle of light from the hall. My
assailants let go of me to dance toward her. She gasped but did not
scream. I staggered along the wall, touched a light-switch, and the
parlor just beyond us flared into visibility. Miss Dolby and I ran in to
the lamp, rallying there as stone-age folk must have rallied at their
fire t