Chapters (21)
- Cover
- Foreword: Writers Are Weird
- The Peacock’s Shadow – E. Hoffman Price
- The White Lady of the Orphanage
- The Terrible Old Man
- The Woman of the Wood
- Bat’s Belfry – August W. Derleth
- The Curse of Everard Maundy
- The Tomb
- Saladin’s Throne-Rug – E. Hoffmann Price
- The Dog-Eared God – Frank Belknap Long, Jr.
- The City of Spiders – H. Warner Munn
- The Cats of Ulthar
- Back to the Beast – Manley Wade Wellman
- A Suitor from the Shades – Greye La Spina
- Pickman’s Model – H.P. Lovecraft
- The Atomic Conquerors
- Original Publication Information
- About the Editors
- If You Liked…
- WordFire Classics
“When I saved you the labor, n’est-ce-pas?” the other interrupted. “Very good, my friend. Here—” hastening to the desk he grabbed a handful of miscellaneous pencils, pens and other writing implements, including a stick of marking chalk “—take these, and get gone, in the name of the good God.” He thrust the utensils into the astonished superintendent’s hands, then turned to me, the gleam in his little blue eyes and the heightened color in his usually pale cheeks showing his barely suppressed rage. “Trowbridge, mon vieux,” he almost hissed, “I fear I shall have to impress you into service as a guard. Stand at the outer door, my friend, and should anyone come seeking pens, pencils, paint brushes or printing presses, have the goodness to boot him away. Me, I do not relish having people looking for pencils through the keyhole of the door while I interrogate the children!”
Thereafter I remained on guard outside the office while child after child filed into the room, talked briefly with de Grandin, and left by the farther door.
“Well, did you find out anything worthwhile?” I asked when the examination was finally ended.
“U’m,” he responded, stroking his mustache thoughtfully, “yes and no. With children of a tender age, as you know, the line of demarcation between recollection and imagination is none too clearly drawn. The older ones could tell me nothing; the younger ones relate a tale of a ‘white lady’ who visited the dormitory on each night a little one disappeared, but what does that mean? Some attendant making a nightly round? Perhaps a window curtain blown by the evening breeze? Maybe it had no surer foundation than some childish whim, seized and enlarged upon by the other little ones. There is little we can go on at this time, I fear.
“Meanwhile,” his manner brightened, “I think I hear the sound of the dinner gong. Parbleu, I am as hungry as a carp and empty as a kettledrum. Let us hasten to the refectory.”
Dinner was a silent meal. Superintendent Gervaise seemed ill at ease under de Grandin’s sarcastic stare, and the other attendants who shared the table with us took their cue from their chief and conversation languished before the second course was served. Nevertheless, de Grandin seemed to enjoy everything set before him to the uttermost, and made strenuous efforts to entertain Mrs. Martin, who sat immediately to his right.
“But Madame,” he insisted when the lady refused a serving of the excellent beef which constituted the roast course, “surely you will not reject this so excellent roast! Remember, it is the best food possible for humanity, for not only does it contain the nourishment we need, but great quantities of iron are to be found in it, as well. Come, permit that I help you to that which is at once food and tonic!”