He backed cautiously toward the door, smiling nervously.

"Don't wait up for me," he said. "I've--"

"Wait," the dark little man said quietly, "I must talk with you."

"Some other time," Reggie said, feeling behind him for the door knob. "Awfully rushed just now. Sorry but--"

"Wait!" the little man said again, but this time his voice cracked like a whip. "Didn't you hear me? I must talk with you?"

Reggie jumped at the cracking tone of the man's voice. His hand jerked away from the door knob as if it were red hot.

"Oh, you want to talk to me?" he said foolishly. "I didn't understand you."

"My name," the little man said, "is," he paused and smiled cryptically, "Demise."

"Glad to know you," Reggie said. "My name is--"

"I know your name," Mr. Demise said. "I know everything about you, Reginald Van Fiddler. I know things about you that you don't know yourself."

"Do you now?" Reggie said, becoming interested in spite of himself. "For instance?"

"I know that you are about to take a long trip," Mr. Demise said.

"That's not news," Reggie said. "My draft board just classified me 1-A. I'll be taking a long trip very shortly."

"That is not the trip I am referring to," Mr. Demise said. "You are going on a trip with me."

Reggie blinked. He couldn't think of anyone with whom he would rather not take a trip than this dark, sinister little man who called himself Mr. Demise. What did Demise mean, anyway?

"It's nice of you, and all that," he said, "but I don't think I'll be able to make it. My draft board might not like it."

"They will understand," Mr. Demise said.

"I don't know about that," Reggie said. He was beginning really to worry. There was something damnably inevitable about Mr. Demise's calm statements. "They're pretty ticklish about such things. I think we'd just better forget the whole idea.""That is impossible," Mr. Demise said.
Reggie rubbed his moist palms on his trouser legs.
"Who are you?" he asked 

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