The work had never been completed. There still remained a hole some
ten feet deep.

David Windom clambered out, leaving his lantern below. Letting the
dead man's body slide into the crevice, he followed, bent on at
least partially finishing the job. When he climbed out a second
time, Edward Crown was at the bottom of the hole and the wet, foul
leaves again hid the opening. Tomorrow night, and the night after,
he would come again to close the hole entirely with earth and
stones, hiding forever the grewsome thing in Quill's "chimney," as
the flue-like passage was called.

Extinguishing the lantern, he started down the hill at a reckless,
break-neck speed. He had the uncanny feeling that he was being
followed, that Edward Crown was dogging his footsteps. Halfway
down, he stumbled and fell sprawling. As he started to rise, a
sound smote his ears--the sound of footsteps. For many seconds he
held his breath, terror clutching his throat. He WAS being followed!
Some one was shuffling down the rock behind him. The collie! He
had forgotten the dog. But even as he drew in the deep breath of
relief, he felt his blood suddenly freeze in his veins. It was not
the dog. Something approached that moaned and whimpered and was
not mortal. It passed by him as he crouched to the earth,--a shadow
blacker than the night itself. Suddenly the truth burst upon him.

"My God! Alix!"

Half an hour later he staggered into his house, bearing the form
of his daughter,--tenderly, carefully, not as he had borne the
despised dead.