I had feverish visions of that red-eyed thing in the sealed chamber escaping its fetters, breaking through the wall, and crawling up those icy, slime-covered stairs.

Even before dawn, I softly unbolted my door and like a marauding thief crept shivering through the cold passageways and the great deserted hall of the castle. Crossing the cobbled courtyards and the black moat, I scrambled down the incline toward the village.

Long before noon, I was well on my way to London. Luck was with me; the next day I was on a liner bound for the Atlantic run. I shall never return to England. I intend always to keep Chilton Castle and its permanent occupant at least an ocean away.Old Mrs. Twining was telling a story about imported marmalade for the third time that evening when Martha glanced at her watch.

"O my goodness!" she exclaimed, "I really must be off! If I don't hurry, I'll miss the last bus!"

Assuring her elderly hostess that she had had a most enjoyable evening, she wriggled into her coat, scurried into the vestibule and was soon off the veranda steps and down the garden walk.

Mrs. Twining was an old dear--but she _was_ tedious at times, Martha thought as she swung open the gate and stepped onto the sidewalk. Goodness! Here it was almost midnight and Mrs. Twining was going on about marmalade for the third time! Lucky she'd looked at her watch.

She had rushed out in such a hurry, she was well down the walk before she noticed the fog. Rising from the nearby river, it was thickening in the empty streets. The lights looked dim and faraway; the whole suburb seemed muffled and silent.

Shivering a little, Martha reached the bus stop and sat down on the cold bench. Glancing along the street, she saw that it was quite empty. The river fog was swirling in rapidly and now even the trunks of trees were becoming blurred and half-shadowy.

It was too bad, Martha thought, that people had to become old. Old and lonely and hungry for talk. Leading such dreary, uneventful lives that a little thing like imported marmalade assumed vast importance.

She hadn't been out to see old Mrs. Twining for over a year and the poor dear would have kept on talking till morning if Martha hadn't broken away to catch the midnight bus back to town.

Martha sighed, drawing her coat a little closer. She _did_ wish the bus 

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