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village dogs still ringing in his ears.
    ***
    One of the vestrymen found him shortly after midnight. The vicar was not a pleasant sight, with his throat torn out, and many lacerations apart from the severing of his jugular. At the inquest, the coroner's jury decided that the Reverend Mr. Webly had come to his death in an unfortunate encounter with a stray dog, "of some considerable size," and recommended that a large fine be levied upon any householder who wantonly allowed his dog to run loose at night.
    Sir Basil Hether, however, took no chances. Having satisfied himself that the curse on the Millham tomb applied only to the opening of the tomb itself, and not to the removal of the jewels, he nevertheless repaired to the proper quarters and had an elderly gentleman publicly in very bad odor as the practitioner of certain unmentionable arts come down from London and seal the tomb again, with incantations and exorcisms.
    Being a man with healthy regard for country lore, he did not forget to have the Millham curse put back upon the tomb for any future Webly who might dare to show his scorn for the beliefs of the local yokelry.

FRITZ LEIBER
    The Hound
    David Lashley huddled the skimpy blankets around him and dully watched the cold light of morning seep through the window and stiffen in his room. He could not recall the exact nature of the terror against which he had fought his way to wakefulness, except that it had been in some way gigantic and had brought back to him the fear-ridden helplessness of childhood. It had lurked near him all night and finally it had crouched over him and thrust down toward his face.
    The radiator whined dismally with the first push of steam from the basement, and he shivered in response. He thought that his shivering was an ironically humorous recognition of the fact that his room was never warm except when he was out of it. But there was more to it than that. The penetrating whine had touched something in his mind without being quite able to dislodge it into consciousness. The mounting rumble of city traffic, together with the hoarse panting of a locomotive in the railroad yards, mingled themselves with the nearer sound, intensifying its disturbing tug at hidden fears. For a few moments he lay inert, listening. There was an unpleasant stench too in the room, he noticed, but that was nothing to be surprised at. He had experienced more than once the strange olfactory illusions that are part of the aftermath of flu. Then he heard his mother moving around laboriously in the kitchen, and that stung him into action.
    "Have you another cold?" she asked, watching him anxiously as he hurriedly spooned in a boiled egg before its heat should be entirely lost in the chilly plate. "Are you sure?" she persisted. "I heard someone sniffling all night."
    "Perhaps Father - " he began. She shook her head. "No, he's all right. His side was giving him a lot of pain yesterday evening, but he slept quietly enough. That's why I thought it must be you, David. I got up twice to see, but" - her voice became a little doleful - "I know you don't like me to come poking into your room at all hours."
    "That's not true!" He contradicted. She looked so frail and little and worn, standing there in front of the stove with one of Father's shapeless bathrobes hugged around her, so like a sick sparrow trying to appear chipper, that a futile irritation, an indignation that he couldn't help her more, welled up within him, choking his voice a little. "It's that I don't want you getting up all the time and missing your sleep. You have enough to do taking care of Father all day long. And I've told you a dozen times that you mustn't make breakfast for me. You know the doctor says you need all the rest you can get."
    "Oh, I'm all right," she answered quickly, "but I was sure you'd caught another cold. All night long I kept hearing it - a sniffling and a snuffling - "
    Coffee spilled over into the saucer as David set down the half-raised cup.