"Swollen fingers gripped the hilt, and a leaden arm swung the knife. The monster turned and I felt again the sting of its foul fangs."
Just how I stand in the sight of God, I do not know, for the affair of twenty years ago is still an unsolved mystery in my own mind and in the minds of others. I offer no defense, for I have no idea as to how the terrible deed was done, or whether I am directly or indirectly responsible for it, if at all. Neither shall I attempt to explain, for I can not. Rather, I shall relate it all, just as it happened, and the significance thereof, if any, must be sought in your own conclusions.
I have borne it long in silence, for fear has sealed my lips; but now I desire to reveal that which has tormented body and soul, and made an old man of me before my time, so that the world may judge for itself. The weight of my misery can be supported no longer, and I thank God the end is in sight.
Neither excusing nor explaining, then, I shall begin.
My name is David Pascal; profession, doctor of medicine. As a young man I held an enviable reputation in my chosen field, and was credited with the virtues of ordinary respectability, a law-abiding nature, and abhorrence of the brutal. I was an average citizen.
At the time of which I write, I had a partner, Blenheim by name, a man of singular personality, intelligence, capability, and, when I first met him, of most charming character. His countenance, however, filled me with a nameless fear and disgust. Its features were bloated and leering. This
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