room open with caution, while the old man had no notion of what I was planning to do in secret. I chuckled when the thought occurred to me, and perhaps he heard my chuckle, for I saw him move suddenly in his bed, like one seized with fright. Perhaps you think I turned coward and shrank from my resolve? No — nothing of the sort happened. The room was dark, for I had fastened the shutters tight for fear of thieves, and so I was certain that he had not seen me opening the door with caution. I put in my head as usual, and just as I was about to open the lantern, my thumb slipped from its place and made a sound. The old man sprang up in his bed at once and cried out — "Who's there?"

I took refuge in silence and stillness; I uttered not a syllable and did not stir a hair's breadth, and I remained so for a full hour. I did not hear him return to his sleep; rather he sat up in his bed, listening — just as I used to do every night — hearkening to every movement and every stir, however slight and faint. Suddenly a low groan struck my ear, and in it I recognized the groan of mortal fear. It was not a groan born of pain or of grief; it was a low groan rising from the depths of the soul when dread and terror take hold of it. I knew that groan well, for its like had risen from my own breast when terror seized me in the middle of every night; therefore I knew the mean-ing of the old man's groan, just as I understood the feeling that had come over him. I felt pity for him, even while I chuckled inwardly. I knew he had not slept since he heard the first sound; his fears had loomed larger and larger before him. Perhaps he tried to find a justification for his fear, telling himself there was no cause for such a feeling; perhaps he asked himself inwardly — "There is nothing there. It is only the sound of the wind playing in the chimney! It is only the sound of a mouse crossing the floor of the room." He kept trying to comfort himself with these explanations,

but to no avail, for Death was drawing near to him, its gray specter stretching itself before his eyes. And it was this that made him — though he neither saw nor heard — feel the presence of another person in the room.

When I had waited a long time with great patience, without hearing him return to his bed, I resolved to open the lantern a small crack. When I did so, a weak, faint ray shone out, like a spider's thread, and fell upon the vulture eye. The eye was open, as if sleep had never visited it, and I was appalled at the sight — for it was blue, covered by a hideous film that sent a cold shudder through my limbs, until I felt it pierce my bones and settle in my joints. But I could not see the rest of his face and body, as though I had directed the rays of the lantern upon my target and nothing else. At the same moment a low, steadily repeated sound struck my ear, like the sound of a watch wrapped in cotton. I know that sound: it was nothing other than the sound of the old man's heart. That sound increased my agitation, as the sound of a drum stirs the soldier to plunge into the thick of battle. But I did not move; I stayed silent, and the lantern stayed in my hand, send-ing its faint ray upon the vulture eye without interruption — while the hellish sound coming from the man's heart kept climbing in loudness and speed, moment after moment. There is no doubt that the man's terror had reached its utmost limit. The sound grew ever louder and quicker as the time wore on and that hour of the night drew near — silent as the silence of the grave — amid that dreadful stillness of our old house. Then I could no longer master myself, for the horror that fearful sound had aroused in me. I tried to control my feelings, and I succeeded for a few minutes; but the beats of the man's heart rose higher and higher, until I imagined that heart would surely burst with fear. At that moment a new dread swept over me, for it flashed upon my imagination that

the sound of these beats might reach the ear of a neighbor. The man's hour had come, beyond all escape. I let out a resounding yell, threw open the light of the lantern, and burst into the room. The man shrieked once, and I fell upon him at once, dragged him to the floor, and buried him under the bedding. And here the smile of triumph spread across my face, my resolve accomplished. But the beats of the man's heart went on sounding for several minutes; then they stopped suddenly. The man was dead; life had left him. I lifted the bedding off him; he was dead as stone, and I was certain that his eye would have no power to trouble me any longer.

And you will not charge me with madness when you learn the extent of the precautions I took in carrying out my deed and in effacing all traces of the crime. The night dragged heavily on while I worked swiftly, but in silence and calm. The first thing I did was to dismember the corpse; then I took up some of the planks of the floor of the room, laid the remains beneath those planks, and replaced them as they had been, until I was certain that no human eye would have the power to notice what I had done.

When I had finished these labors, the clock had reached four in the morning, and the curtains of darkness still wrapped the world on every side. As the clock struck four, there came a knocking at the door of the house. I went down and opened the door with an untroubled heart. Three men entered and introduced themselves to me as officers of the police. They had come after one of the neighbors had told them he had heard a sharp cry during the night, which had aroused suspicion and misgiving that something serious had occurred in the house. And so they had been deputed to visit the house and carry out a search. I smiled — and why not? There was nothing to frighten me. I welcomed the officers and informed them that the cry had come from me in my sleep, and I mentioned to