他差不多又看了一个多小时的书，随后又被突如其来的寂静打断了。屋外的暴风雨还在继续咆哮着，甚至比之前更猛烈了。雨点打在窗户上，溅起冰雹大的水珠。屋子里还是一片寂静，除了风吹进烟囱里的回**声，就只有雨点打进烟囱所发出的哗哗声。壁炉里的火也慢慢小了，已看不见火星，只燃着暗红的余火。马尔科姆逊全神贯注地听着，只听到一丝轻微、模糊的声音。那是从房间的角落里发出的，那里正是拉绳摆动着的地方，他猜可能是风吹得大警钟摇摇晃晃，拉绳也跟着晃动，从而和地板摩擦发出了哗啦声。他抬起头，借着昏暗的灯光，看到那只大老鼠抓着那根拉绳，正在拼命地啃咬。拉绳快被咬断了，他看见被咬开的绳芯上的浅颜色。就在这时，拉绳被咬断了，下面的一截落在橡木地板上，发出“噗”的一声，而那只大老鼠仍趴在上半截拉绳的末端，像个流苏或小球一样，在上面**来**去。这时，马尔科姆逊突然意识到，他再也无法抓住拉绳向外面求助了，一种恐惧感油然而生，随之而来的便是难以遏制的愤怒，他抓起一本书就向那只大老鼠扔去。他砸得很准，但还是被老鼠躲过去了，老鼠从拉绳上跳下来，“咚”的一声落在地板上。马尔科姆逊立刻向它冲去，它一溜烟儿地跑了，消失在黑暗中。马尔科姆逊决定停下他手头的工作，全力去捕老鼠。他把绿灯罩取下，这样灯光可以照到房间的每个地方。房顶也被照亮了，那些原来黑漆漆的地方都变得亮堂起来，墙上的画也清晰可见。马尔科姆逊站在正对着壁炉右边第三幅画的地方。突然，他被眼前的一切惊呆了，随即恐惧便占据了他的大脑。
在画的中央，露出一大片不规则的褐色画布，其他地方还是和之前看到的一模一样，那些椅子、炉角、拉绳都在，但就是法官不见了。
马尔科姆逊吓得浑身冒冷汗，他慢慢地转过身来，浑身都在颤抖，就像一个中了风的病人。他已经吓得动不了了，手脚根本不听使唤，大脑也不受控制了，只能听和看。
画里的法官此时就坐在高背雕花橡木椅上，穿着紫红色的貂毛法官袍，手拿一顶黑帽子正准备戴上，他目露凶光，坚毅、冷酷的嘴角扬起胜利的微笑。马尔科姆逊感觉到他的血正在涌向心脏，耳朵嗡嗡响，只听得到暴风雨呼啸的声音和从广场上传来的午夜的钟声，他就像尊雕像那样定在那里，眼睛睁得圆圆的，屏住了呼吸。听到钟声，法官胜利的微笑显得更得意了，当午夜的钟声敲到最后一下时，法官戴上了他的黑帽子。
法官缓慢地、从容不迫地站了起来，捡起掉在地上的那半段拉绳，放在手上摩挲着，好像他很喜欢这种感觉。然后，他不慌不忙地在绳的一端打了个结，穿成了套索，接着踩住拉紧它，直到他满意为止。之前的绳子现在已经变成了绳套，法官将它握在手里，接着，他沿着桌子向马尔科姆逊走去，并紧紧地盯着他，直到来到门口时才停了下来。马尔科姆逊感觉自己好像被捆住了一样，他思索着该怎么办。法官的眼睛好像有种特殊的魔力，把他的目光吸住了。他看见法官走近他（但仍站在他和门之间），举起绳套，朝他扔过来想要套住他。他用尽全力跳开了，回头一看，绳套落在了他的身后，发出“砰”的一声。法官再一次举起绳套想要套住他，并继续用凶残的眼神盯着他，这一次马尔科姆逊也用尽全力避开了。如此反复了几次，法官对此又不气馁也不生气，就像一只猫在逗老鼠一样。马尔科姆逊已经绝望至极，他迅速地看了看周围，灯很亮，房间被照得亮堂堂的。他可以看见老鼠洞和墙缝间老鼠们圆溜溜的眼睛，这让他稍微感到一丝安慰。他朝四周看了看，大警钟的拉绳上也挤满了老鼠，越来越多的老鼠从洞里爬到拉绳上，拉绳越来越沉，开始摇晃。
听，钟敲响了。只是开始时声音有点儿小，但随着钟的摇摆，声音越来越响。
听到钟响，一直盯着马尔科姆逊的法官抬起头看看警钟，脸上露出非常愤怒的表情，红了眼的他气得直跺脚，发出巨大的声音，整栋房子都在震动。当他再一次举起绳套的时候，一道霹雳震耳欲聋，拉绳上的老鼠上蹿下跳，像是在同时间赛跑。这一次法官没有扔绳套，而是走近马尔科姆逊，一边走一边拉开绳套。当他走近时，马尔科姆逊像被施了魔法一样，站在那里一动不动。他感到法官冰冷的手指正划过他的喉咙，给他套绳套，拉紧，把他抱到橡木椅上，让他站在上面，接着放开手，拉着这警钟拉绳的末端。当法官抬起手时，老鼠们尖叫着逃跑了，消失在天花板上的洞里。他把套在马尔科姆逊脖子上的绳套的末端绑到了警钟的绳子上。最后，他推开椅子，让马尔科姆逊吊在空中。
当法官的房子里的警钟被拉响时，大队人马迅速聚集了起来，他们擎着灯、举着火把，沉默不语，飞身朝着目的地奔了过去。他们使劲儿地敲门，却没有任何回应。最后，他们只好破门而入，医生带头冲进马尔科姆逊住的饭厅。
警钟拉绳的末端吊着马尔科姆逊的尸体，油画上法官露出了邪恶的微笑。
When the time for his examination drew near Malcolmson made up his mind to go somewhere to read by himself. He feared the attractions of the seaside， and also he feared completely rural isolation， for of old he knew its harms， and so he determined to find some unpretentious little town where there would be nothing to distract him.He refrained from asking suggestions from any of his friends， for he argued that each would recommend some place of which he had knowledge， and where he had already acquaintances.As Malcolmson wished to avoid friends he had no wish to encumber himself with the attention of friends'friends， and so he determined to look out for a place for himself.He packed a portmanteau with some clothes and all the books he required， and then took ticket for the first name on the local time-table which he did not know.
When at the end of three hours'journey he alighted at Benchurch， he felt satisfied that he had so far obliterated his tracks as to be sure of having a peaceful opportunity of pursuing his studies. He went straight to the one inn which the sleepy little place contained， and put up for the night.Benchurch was a market town， and once in three weeks was crowded to excess， but for the remainder of the twenty-one days it was as attractive as a desert.Malcolmson looked around the day after his arrival to try to find quarters more isolated than even so quiet an inn as "The Good Traveller" afforded.There was only one place which took his fancy， and it certainly satisfied his wildest ideas regarding quiet；in fact， quiet was not the proper word to apply to it—desolation was the only term conveying any suitable idea of its isolation.It was an old rambling， heavy-built house of the Jacobean style， with heavy gables and windows， unusually small， and set higher than was customary in such houses， and was surrounded with a high brick wall massively built.Indeed， on examination， it looked more like a fortified house than an ordinary dwelling.But all these things pleased Malcolmson. "Here，" he thought， "is the very spot I have been looking for， and if I can get opportunity of using it I shall be happy." His joy was increased when he realised beyond doubt that it was not at present inhabited.
From the post-office he got the name of the agent who was rarely surprised at the application to rent a part of the old house. Mr.Carnford， the local lawyer and agent， was a genial old gentleman， and frankly confessed his delight at anyone being willing to live in the house.
"To tell you the truth，" said he， "I should be only too happy， on behalf of the owners， to let anyone have the house rent free for a term of years if only to accustom the people here to see it inhabited. It has been so long empty that some kind of absurd prejudice has grown up about it， and this can be best put down by its occupation—if only，" he added with a sly glance at Malcolmson， "by a scholar like yourself， who wants its quiet for a time."
Malcolmson thought it needless to ask the agent about the "absurd prejudice"； he knew he would get more information， if he should require it， on that subject from other quarters. He paid his three months'rent， got a receipt， and the name of an old woman who would probably undertake to "do" for him， and came away with the keys in his pocket.He then went to the landlady of the inn， who was a cheerful and most kindly person， and asked her advice as to such stores and provisions as he would be likely to require.She threw up her hands in amazement when he told her where he was going to settle himself.