So I turned, and went as swiftly and stealthily as possible towards the library.
I was all but in when he turned the corner of the passage, and so caught sight of me before I had closed the door.
I stood in the library, where the lamp still burned, sweating, panting, and trembling.

For even as he had had a glimpse of me, so had I had a glimpse of him, and the sight was terrifying to one in my situation.
I had seen, his tall, gaunt figure bending forward in his eager, angry haste.

In one hand he carried a lanthorn; a naked sword in the other.
His face was malign and ghastly, and his bald, egg-like head shone yellow.

The fleeting glimpse he had of me drew from him a sound between a roar and a snarl, and with quickened feet he came slip-slopping down the passage.
I had meant, I think, to play the fox: to seat myself at the table, a book before me, and feigning slumber, present the appearance of one who had been overcome by weariness at his labours.

But now all thought of that was at an end.