Page:Weird Tales Volume 9 Number 5 (1927-05).djvu/102

 shook his body as he read the lines his hand had written:

The hand started to move again and the count followed his pen with his eyes.

The writing ceased, and the count could move his hand at his will. He stared at the mute evidence of the astral. Suddenly he rose, and with an angry snarl he east the parchment from him into the hungry flames in the grate. He rubbed his hands across his eyes, futilely endeavoring to blot out the words that danced maliciously before him. He clasped his fists and glared angrily into the fire. Slowly he turned, walked toward the main corridor of the castle, and was swallowed up in the thick darkness.

two weeks later. The young Count de Cheveaux had acted strangely that day. His father had noticed this, and it impressed him. He pondered long upon it as he sat alone in his chamber. The more he tried not to think of the parchment which he had so vehemently thrown from him two weeks ago, the more he thought of it and associated it with his son's strange behavior. The astral of that Champoy was getting in its fine work, mused de Cheveaux. He could see no way to stop it; for once in his life the Count de Cheveaux was helpless. The thought unnerved him.

One day, some time later, the elder count observed his son watching him covertly through half-closed eyes. He thought at once of Armand Champoy. His son was twirling a heavy walking stick and he had been staring at his parent out of the corners of his eyes. The elder count frowned heavily at his son, but the latter seemed not to notice. However, he removed his gaze and placidly continued to twirl his cane. The incident bothered the count not a little, and soon he went to his library to consult his store of books on the black arts.

The winter slipped by and spring came. The village of Cheveaux was busy as a hive of bees. From the 