"He can suggest nothing, sir," I answered. "He regards the
crisis as universal and inevitable. We have some oxygen here,
but it can only defer our fate for a few hours."

"Oxygen!" cried the agonized voice. "There is no time to get
any. The office has been a perfect pandemonium ever since you
left in the morning. Now half of the staff are insensible. I am
weighed down with heaviness myself. From my window I can see the
people lying thick in Fleet Street. The traffic is all held up.
Judging by the last telegrams, the whole world----"

His voice had been sinking, and suddenly stopped. An instant
later I heard through the telephone a muffled thud, as if his
head had fallen forward on the desk.

"Mr. McArdle!" I cried. "Mr. McArdle!"

There was no answer. I knew as I replaced the receiver that I
should never hear his voice again.

At that instant, just as I took a step backwards from the
telephone, the thing was on us. It was as if we were bathers, up
to our shoulders in water, who suddenly are submerged by a
rolling wave. An invisible hand seemed to have quietly closed
round my throat and to be gently pressing the life from me. I
was conscious of immense oppression upon my chest, great
tightness within my head, a loud singing in my ears, and bright
flashes before my eyes. I staggered to the balustrades of the
stair. At the same moment, rushing and snorting like a wounded