We see a tall, damp tunnel with the light at the end. Beyond the reach of the light, an unseen beggar woman is singing a ballad. Karloff, taking his time as always, ambles off into the dark. In a moment, the song is cut off in midnote by Karloff's hand. Every victim, however flawed, is missed and mourned for.
Every life has value, every madman is a tragedy and pity always matches the possibility for horror.
Watching the decline of Captain Stone, or the Greek general Karloff plays in Isle of the Dead , you can think, Oh, what a noble mind is here overthrown. Lewton's films are a total disappointment to gorehounds, though. Lewton later apologized for that excess. This apology was in keeping with the producer's insistence on psychology over sensation. It's Lewton's sense of sadness and loss that makes his films resonant, as resonant as the unaccompanied voices of the singers he used in virtually all of his movies.