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HAMILTON CRAIGIE Spins Another Yarn in
His Inimitable Style
MIDNIGHT
BLACK
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RITA DAVENTRY sat bolt upright in her bed, her ears strained against the singing silence, breath indrawn sharply through her parted lips.
There had been no sound, save as a sound heard in dreams, but as she sat there, rigid, tense, in the thick darkness, leaning forward a little in the great bed, she was certain that she was not alone.
Someone or something was in the room.
The blackness was like an invisible wall; it pressed upon her eyelids now like a gigantic and smothering hand. And then, all at once, she heard it: the brief clink of metal upon metal; a rus-
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