would find bliss waiting for them behind the Lost Door and I would never see Helene again.
The days pass. I do what my father set out for me to do. I keep his bargain with the ghost of the fair Helene. I never leave Rougemont. I have no desire to, for I am always hoping that some day I shall again find the Lost Door.
| Doom of the House |
| of Duryea |
By EARL PEIRCE, JR.
A powerful story of stark horror, and the dreadful thing that happened
in a lone house in the Maine woods
Arthur Duryea, a young, handsome man, came to meet his father for the first time in twenty years. As he strode into the hotel lobby—long strides which had the spring of elastic in them—idle eyes lifted to appraise him, for he was an impressive figure, somehow grim with exaltation.
The desk clerk looked up with his habitual smile of expectation; how-do-you-do-Mr.-so-and-so, and his fingers strayed to the green fountain pen which stood in a holder on the desk.
Arthur Duryea cleared his throat, but still his voice was clogged and unsteady. To the clerk he said:
"I'm looking for my father, Doctor Henry Duryea. I understand he is registered here. He has recently arrived from Paris."
The clerk lowered his glance to a list of names. "Doctor Duryea is in suite 600, sixth floor," He looked up, his eyebrows arched questioningly. "Are you staying too, sir, Mr. Duryea?"
Arthur took the pen and scribbled his name rapidly. Without a further word, neglecting even to get his key and own room number, he turned and walked to the elevators. Not until he reached his father's suite on the sixth floor did he make an audible noise, and this was a mere sigh which fell from his lips like a prayer.
The man who opened the door was unusually tall, his slender frame clothed in tight-fitting black. He hardly dared to smile. His clean-shaven face was pale, an almost livid whiteness against the sparkle in his eyes. His jaw had a bluish luster.
"Arthur!" The word was scarcely a whisper. It seemed choked up quietly, as if it had been repeated time and again on his thin lips.
Arthur Duryea felt the kindliness of
W.T.—3
