II

By this time the circle was absolutely silent, concentrated to ears

and eyes. They stared and leaned towards the shadowy corner behind the

stove where the dimly defined figure crouched. The clerk got up and

turned down the gas, which flared in his face, and the room was almost

wholly dark. The man spoke in a dull, mechanical way, as one speaks who

clears his mind, once for all. At intervals he waited fully ten seconds

to rest his voice, strangely impressive, with its strained, choked

tones.

"The next day they went," he repeated. "Darby was not only clever--he

was extremely sensitive. Ridicule was unbearable to him. And though he

was a literary fellow, and artistic and all that, he was practical,

too, for all he was so brilliant and winning. It actually troubled

him that people should believe anything but what he called 'the

strictly logical,' and he thought Joan's ideas far too flexible and

credulous. It was really for Joan's sake, he said in joke, whom he

rather suspected of spiritualistic leanings, that he intended to make

the excursion into the country. And he would tell nobody. He would

make no inquiries. He would conduct the search along somewhat unusual

lines, he declared. One of them should sleep in the room. At one

o'clock precisely the other should quietly mount a ladder fixed just

where the mythical ladder had been and enter the room in that way, thus

preventing any mischievous practical jokes from without, and insuring

help to the man within, should he need it.

"And Joan agreed to this. He was interested himself, and he'd have been

as eager and scornful as Darby if it hadn't occurred to him--for he was

a terribly literal fellow--that four tragedies, sad as these had been,

and all unexplained, couldn't be accounted for by chance nor made less

sad even by a good logician like Darby. So he suggested one or two

friends to fall back upon in case of foul play of any kind. And Darby

looked at him and laughed a little sneering laugh and called him----"

The man choked and bent lower. He seemed to be unable to speak for some

seconds. Then he hurried on, speaking from this point very rapidly and

using a kind of clumsy gesture that brought the scenes he spoke of

strangely clear to the men around him.

"He called him a coward. So Joan agreed to go. And on the afternoon

of the day before Christmas they took a long ladder and a lantern and

some sandwiches and two revolvers and drove in a butcher's cart to the

little village. And Joan was as eager as Darby that no one should know.

You see, Darby called him a coward.

"They slipped into the old, dingy mill at dusk, and went over it with

the greatest thoroughness. Everything was open and empty. Only the

corner bedroom and one of the living rooms were furnished at all. The

dust lay thick in the mill proper, but the living rooms were singularly

free from it. Darby noticed this and remarked it to Joan. 'It doesn't

smell half so musty, either,' he said. 'I'm glad of that. I hate old,

musty smells.'

"Then a queer, crawly feeling came over Joan, and he said: 'Darby,

let's go home. Life's short enough, heaven knows. If anything----' And

then Darby told him once for all that if he wanted to go home he might,

and otherwise he might shut up.

"'Do you want it dusty and smelly?' said he.

"'Yes,' said Joan, 'I do. I don't see why it isn't, either. It's just

as old and just as deserted as the other part.'

"'You might get a little dust from the other side and scatter it

about,' said Darby, and before Joan could reply he had scooped a

handful of dry, brown dust from the bagroom of the mill and laid it

about on the bureau and chairs of the bedroom. 'Now come out for our

last patrol,' he said. They went out and studied the mill carefully. As

they came around to the house side, keeping carefully in the shadow,

Joan looked surprised and pointed to the door by which they had

entered.

"'That door's shut,' he said.

"'Well?' asked Darby.

"'We left it ajar.'

"'Oh, the wind!' said Darby, and went up to the door softly, listening

for any escaping joker. He rattled the knob and pushed it inward, but

the door did not yield. 'Why, you couldn't have left it ajar,' he said,

'it's locked!'

"Joan stared at the house, wondering if it was possible that the

window-panes really shone so brightly. And the cobwebs about the

blinds, where were they? He could have sworn that the porch was full of

dead leaves and sticks when they went in--it was as clean as his hand

now.

"'We'll go in by the window, the broken one, at the back,' he said

quietly. They went around the house and hunted for the broken window,

but did not find it. The window was not only whole but locked. Then

Joan set his teeth.

"'The broken window must have been at the mill side,' he said, 'we'll

go there.' So they went around and clambered in by a paneless window

and went to the bedroom. The room was dim, but they could distinguish

objects fairly well. Darby looked queerly at Joan.

"'So you cleared away the dust,' he asked.

"'What dust?' asked Joan. Then he followed Darby's eyes, and where the

little piles of brown dust had lain were only clean, bare boards.

"Outside, the teams of the home-coming farmers rolled by. A dog barked,

and now a child called. But they seemed far away--in another country.

Where the two young fellows stood, there was a strange lonely belt of

silence.

"'Perhaps I brushed the chair as we went out,' said Darby slowly. But

he looked at Joan queerly.

"They took their supper, and then Joan announced his intention of

staying in the room while Darby patrolled the house, and climbed the

ladder at one. At first Darby demurred. He had planned to stay. But

Joan was inflexible. It was utterly useless to argue with him, so Darby

agreed. If Joan wanted help he was to call. At eleven and twelve Darby

was to climb the ladder and look in, and at one he was to come in,

whatever the situation. At the slightest intimation of danger of any

kind Joan was to fire his revolver and Darby was to call for help and

rush up the ladder. For all that the people were so quiet round about,

they were probably uneasy--they knew that things might happen on the

night before Christmas.

"Joan sat for some time after Darby had left him, staring about the

room. It was simply furnished with a large bed, a table, and two deal

chairs. Thrown over the bed was a moth-eaten blanket, checked white

and red. Joan swept it off from the bed and shook it, closing his eyes

instinctively to avoid the dust. But no dust came. He shook it again.

It was as fresh and clean as his handkerchief. He threw it back on the

bed and looked out at Darby walking quietly around in the shadow.

"He was glad Darby was out there. He got to thinking of ghosts and

strange preparations for their coming. The boards of the window

creaked, and he gasped and stared, only to see Darby's face at the

window. 'Anything happened?' he signalled. Joan shook his head. It

must be eleven o'clock. How was it possible? The time had seemed so

short. He stared at a big star till his eyes swam. He felt dull and

drowsy. He had sat up late the night before, and he needed sleep.

"A thought came to him, and it seemed somehow very original and

striking. He tapped on the pane to Darby.

"'I'll lie down and take a little nap,' he whispered, opening the

window softly. 'You can call me at twelve.' Darby nodded.

"'How do you feel, old fellow? All right?' he asked."

The man choked again and was silent for a time. The strain was growing.

The men waited for something to happen as one awaits the falling of the

red, snapping embers.

"Joan lay down in that bed," said the stranger hoarsely, and from this

point he hurried on almost too quickly for clearness, "on that hideous

checked blanket, and fell asleep. He fell asleep thinking of Darby's

words and how thoughtful they were: 'How do you feel, old fellow? All

right?'

"He had bad dreams. He dreamed a woman stood at the foot of the bed and

stared at him and motioned him to go. And she was an unnatural woman.

She kept changing colour, from red to yellow, from yellow to cream

colour, from cream colour to white, from white to--ah! she was a dead

woman!

"She motioned him to go, but he refused. She came to the side of the

bed and took off her long red sash and bound him down. Then he was

willing to go indeed, and strained his muscles in useless efforts

to break away, but she laughed at him and then breathed in his face

till her damp, icy breath chilled his very soul--and he woke, covered

with the sweat of terror--to see her standing at the foot of the bed,

looking, looking into his staring eyes!