He turned, and with a cry of terror he ran for his life up the avenue.
There were the red lights, the signals of safety, almost within a
stone's throw of him.  He was a famous runner, but never had he run as
he ran that night.

The heavy gate had swung into place behind him, but he heard it dash
open again before his pursuer.  As he rushed madly and wildly through
the night, he could hear a swift, dry patter behind him, and could see,
as he threw back a glance, that this horror was bounding like a tiger
at his heels, with blazing eyes and one stringy arm outthrown.  Thank
God, the door was ajar.  He could see the thin bar of light which shot
from the lamp in the hall.  Nearer yet sounded the clatter from behind.
He heard a hoarse gurgling at his very shoulder.  With a shriek he
flung himself against the door, slammed and bolted it behind him, and
sank half-fainting on to the hall chair.