At last it died. Hammond and I found it cold and stiff one morning in the bed. The heart had ceased to beat, the lungs to inspire. We hastened to bury it in the garden. It was a strange funeral, the dropping of that viewless corpse into the damp hole. The cast of its form I gave to Doctor X——, who keeps it in his museum in Tenth Street.

As I am on the eve of a long journey from which I may not return, I have drawn up this narrative of an event the most singular that has ever come to my knowledge.

Transcriber’s Note:

The words peckett (page 11), stronge (page 170) and Boulevart(s) (pages 59 and 80), the use of both L’Estrange and l’Estrange, and variations in hyphenated words have been retained as in the original book.