The author of "The Phantom of the Opera" has written a vivid new weird story of a Corsican vendetta—of a woman who was guillotined and lived—of the ghastly vengeance wreaked upon her by one who considered himself deeply wronged—of an eery murder and primitive passions.
In this outré and sensational story of crime and primal jealousy Gaston Leroux justifies the title of "the Edgar Allan Poe of France," which has been bestowed upon him by his admirers. The story will be printed complete in the
October issue of
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The Hound
(Continued from page 425)
sardonic bay as of some gigantic hound, and I saw that it held in its gory, filthy claw the lost and fateful amulet of green jade, I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter.
Madness rides the star-wind . . . claws and teeth sharpened on centuries of corpses . . . dripping death astride a bacchanale of bats from night-black ruins of buried temples of Belial . . . . Now, as the baying of that dead, fleshless monstrosity grows louder and louder, and the stealthy whirring and flapping of those accursed web-wings circles closer and closer, I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is my only refuge from the unnamed and unnamable.
The Moor Ghost
By Robert E. Howard
They haled him to the crossroads
As day was at its close;
They hung him to the gallows
And left him for the crows.
His hands in life were bloody,
His ghost will not be still;
He haunts the naked moorlands
About the gibbet hill.
And oft a lonely traveler
Is found upon the fen
Whose dead eyes hold a horror
Beyond the world of men.
The villagers then whisper,
With accents grim and dour:
"This man has met at midnight
The phantom of the moor."
