It is March 28th, midnight, and as I pen these concluding words, my mind reverts to the symbols and the date—March 28th, twelve o’clock.
Suddenly I hear footsteps—distant footsteps on the road outside—coming in the direction of the house.
I glance at my wife, wondering whether she hears them too. She is asleep, however, and, as I covertly watch her, I see a look of terror gradually steal into her face. Clicking steps. They come nearer and nearer. They stop for a moment at our door, and then—thank God—pass slowly on.
I look out of the window—the road is absolutely deserted, but from close at hand the sounds are wafted to me—click, click, click, fainter, fainter, fainter—until they abruptly cease.
THE END.
Printed by W. Mate & Sons, Ltd., Bournemouth.
[1] See “The Oriental Zig-zag,” by C. Hamilton.
[2] I am not sure of the proper spelling of the word, as the writing in my original notes has become so very illegible in places.
[3] I have reproduced the gist of this narrative in my own language.