On the left of it, from a nail in the wall, hung a violin and
bow, and on the right stood a sort of cylindrical glass case or
closed jar, upon a wooden base.

From the moment that I perceived the contents of this glass case
a sense of fantasy claimed me, and I ceased to know where reality
ended and mirage began.

It contained a tiny and perfect figure of a man. He was arrayed
in a beautifully fitting dress-suit such as a doll might have
worn, and he was posed as if in the act of playing a violin,
although no violin was present. At the elfin black hair and
Mephistophelian face of this horrible, wonderful image, I stared
fascinatedly.

I looked and looked at the dwarfed figure of. . . Tcheriapin!

All these impressions came to me in the space of a few hectic
moments, when in upon my mental tumult intruded a husky whisper
from the man on the sofa.

"Kreener!" he said. "Kreener!"

At the sound of that name, and because of the way in which it was
pronounced, I felt my blood running cold. The speaker was
staring straight at my companion.

I clutched at the open door. I felt that there was still some
crowning horror to come. I wanted to escape from that reeking
room, but my muscles refused to obey me, and there I stood while: