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112 pages, Mass Market Paperback
First published January 1, 1894
It was not in the personal appearance of the little, dry, wizened old man that the interest lay, for he was precisely like dozens of other church-guardians in France, but in a curious furtive, or rather hunted and oppressed, air which he had. He was perpetually half glancing behind him; the muscles of his back and shoulders seemed to be hunched in a continual nervous contraction, as if he were expecting every moment to find himself in the clutch of an enemy.James supports this anxiety with little touches here and there: the sacristan’s odd behavior in the church, his cryptic comments on the walk back. the anxious looks of the old man’s daughter when they reach his dwelling. Then, about two-thirds of the way through our story, our hero, the man from Cambridge, opens the “scrap-book” of the title, and examines one of its illustrations:
. . . a Biblical scene. . . . On the right was a King . . . evidently King Solomon. He was bending forward with outstretched sceptre, in attitude of command . . . The left half of the picture was the strangest, however. The interest plainly centred there. On the pavement before the throne were grouped four soldiers, surrounding a crouching figure which must be described in a moment. A fifth soldier lay dead on the pavement, his neck distorted, and his eyeballs starting from his head. The four surrounding guards were looking at the King. In their faces the sentiment of horror was intensified. . . . All this terror was plainly excited by the being that crouched in their midst. I entirely despair of conveying by any words the impression which this figure makes upon anyone who looks at it. . . . At first you saw only a mass of coarse, matted black hair; presently it was seen that this covered a body of fearful thinness, almost a skeleton, but with the muscles standing out like wires. The hands were of a dusky pallor, covered, like the body, with long, coarse hairs, and hideously taloned. The eyes, touched in with a burning yellow, had intensely black pupils, and were fixed upon the throned King with a look of beast-like hate. Imagine one of the awful bird-catching spiders of South America translated into human form, and endowed with intelligence just less than human, and you will have some faint conception of the terror inspired by the appalling effigy. One remark is universally made by those to whom I have shown the picture: 'It was drawn from the life.'From the moment I read this passage, I was hooked on the work of the master of the antiquarian ghost story, Montague Rhodes James. I have read every one of his stories, and I have never been seriously disappointed.