Often in the days that followed, Meldrum, moved by a curiosity he could not quite account for, took his evening walk out on North Avenue past Needham’s house. Of Needham himself he saw nothing. Once he heard the weird tinkling of the piano, but generally the form of the little monkey in its red jacket could be seen sitting motionless at the upper front window looking out on the street. It struck Meldrum as strange that the creatures should sit so quietly. In the course of his progress past the house he did not observe it stir or alter its position. Its gaze seemed fixed on that point of the road where Meldrum fancied its master would first come into sight on his way home from town.
“Never knew they were such devoted things,” Meldrum ruminated. “What a queer kind of a pet to keep! And what a queer life to live, anyway, alone in that house. He doesn’t even get anyone to clean it up apparently. Some strange people in this old world!”
With this philosophical reflection, Meldrum passed on in the direction of the park.
Term examinations kept Meldrum busily occupied during the days that followed, and the friends did not have occasion to see one another for nearly two weeks. Then, when they did meet, it was again through the instrumentality of Needham, after the evening of the party at the Miner home. The Miners were neighbors of Norton’s sweetheart and lived out some distance beyond Ethan Allen Park.
Thus it came about that after seeing his young lady to her home Norton found himself, some time after midnight, at a point perhaps a couple of miles from his rooms and with the area of the Park lying almost directly between himself and his objective. He determined to cut across it, a thing he did quite frequently.
The night was cool and cloudy, with fitful bursts of moonlight which tended rather to accentuate the blackness of the intervening spells of darkness. Had Norton not been thoroughly familiar with the topography of the land he might have had some difficulty in keeping his direction. But he kept going forward confidently, noting certain well-known landmarks. He skirted the base of the hill on which the tower is situated, and was just on the point of plunging into a thick grove of trees, leading down toward the main gateway, when he chanced to look behind. And there he saw rather a disquieting sight.
The moon had just struggled through again and its pale light revealed to the apprehensive Norton the gigantic form of Needham perched on the top of a large boulder in a crouching position as if about to spring down. It might have been perhaps fifty yards from the spot where Norton stood. Even as he gazed Needham leapt down (from a height of some ten feet) and disappeared. Norton stood waiting, but there was no further sound. He walked on again, wondering uneasily what Needham might be doing in the park at such an hour—unless perhaps he, too, was taking a short cut. But Norton felt uneasy nevertheless.
Entering the grove he pushed forward briskly. It was very dark now, the moon being hidden once more, and the gloom and whispering of the trees made his flesh creep. Several times he looked behind him, but could see nothing. Then a crackling of branches, this time much nearer, brought him to a dead halt, and, facing about, he called loudly:
“Hello, Needham! Is that you?”
There was no response, and Norton stood with straining ears and eyes, his heart thumping in alarm. And even as he stood the horrible thing happened.