Late in the afternoon of the next day three men and a boy approached the
Breede house from that point of the compass toward which the boy had
fled the preceding night. The men were in high spirits; they talked very
loudly and laughed. They made facetious and good-humored ironical
remarks to the boy about his adventure, which evidently they did not
believe in. The boy accepted their raillery with seriousness, making no
reply. He had a sense of the fitness of things and knew that one who
professes to have seen a dead man rise from his seat and blow out a
candle is not a credible witness.
Arriving at the house and finding the door unlocked, the party of
investigators entered without ceremony. Leading out of the passage into
which this door opened was another on the right and one on the left.
They entered the room on the left--the one which had the blank front
window. Here was the dead body of a man.
It lay partly on one side, with the forearm beneath it, the cheek on the
floor. The eyes were wide open; the stare was not an agreeable thing to
encounter. The lower jaw had fallen; a little pool of saliva had
collected beneath the mouth. An overthrown table, a partly burned
candle, a chair and some paper with writing on it were all else that the
room contained. The men looked at the body, touching the face in turn.
The boy gravely stood at the head, assuming a look of ownership. It was
the proudest moment of his life. One of the men said to him, "You're a
good 'un"--a remark which was received by the two others with nods of
acquiescence. It was Scepticism apologizing to Truth. Then one of the
men took from the floor the sheet of manuscript and stepped to the
window, for already the evening shadows were glooming the forest. The
song of the whip-poor-will was heard in the distance and a monstrous
beetle sped by the window on roaring wings and thundered away out of
hearing. The man read: