Ужас в музее
Chapter 1
Despitetheassistant’sstatementthatnodoghadbeeninthemuseum,Jonesglancednervouslyatthethreesmallwindowsofthebasementworkroom—narrow,horizontalrectanglesclosetothegrass-grownpavement,withgrimypanesthatstaredrepulsivelyandincuriouslyliketheeyesofdeadfish. Totheirleftawornflightofstepsledtoanopaqueandheavilybolteddoor. Someimpulseurgedhimtocrouchlowonthedamp,brokencobblestonesandpeerin,onthechancethatthethickgreenshades,workedbylongcordsthathungdowntoareachablelevel,mightnotbedrawn. Theoutersurfaceswerethickwithdirt,butasherubbedthemwithhishandkerchiefhesawtherewasnoobscuringcurtaininthewayofhisvision.
Soshadowedwasthecellarfromtheinsidethatnotmuchcouldbemadeout,butthegrotesqueworkingparaphernalianowandthenloomedupspectrallyasJonestriedeachofthewindowsinturn. Itseemedevidentatfirstthatnoonewaswithin;yetwhenhepeeredthroughtheextremeright-handwindow—theonenearesttheentrancealley—hesawaglowoflightatthefartherendoftheapartmentwhichmadehimpauseinbewilderment. Therewasnoreasonwhyanylightshouldbethere. Itwasaninnersideoftheroom,andhecouldnotrecallanygasorelectricfixturenearthatpoint. Anotherlookdefinedtheglowasalargeverticalrectangle,andathoughtoccurredtohim.
