“Good!” he said, as he opened the door, and with an indescribable
gesture that combined a warning to be ready with a sign of praise for
my correct intuition, he was gone.
I hurried after him, and found the two men waiting for me in front of
the fire.
“I ought to warn you,” our host was saying as I came in, “that my
sister, whom you will meet at dinner, is not aware of the real object
of your visit. She is under the impression that we are interested in
the same line of study--folklore--and that your researches have led to
my seeking acquaintance. She comes to dinner in her chair, you know. It
will be a great pleasure to her to meet you both. We have few visitors.”
So that on entering the dining-room we were prepared to find Miss
Wragge already at her place, seated in a sort of bath-chair. She was
a vivacious and charming old lady, with smiling expression and bright
eyes, and she chatted all through dinner with unfailing spontaneity.
She had that face, unlined and fresh, that some people carry through
life from the cradle to the grave; her smooth plump cheeks were
all pink and white, and her hair, still dark, was divided into two
glossy and sleek halves on either side of a careful parting. She wore
gold-rimmed glasses, and at her throat was a large scarab of green
jasper that made a very handsome brooch.
Her brother and Dr. Silence talked little, so that most of the
conversation was carried on between herself and me, and she told me a
great deal about the history of the old house, most of which I fear I
listened to with but half an ear.
“And when Cromwell stayed here,” she babbled on, “he occupied the very
rooms upstairs that used to be mine. But my brother thinks it safer for
me to sleep on the ground floor now in case of fire.”
And this sentence has stayed in my memory only because of the sudden
way her brother interrupted her and instantly led the conversation
on to another topic. The passing reference to fire seemed to have
disturbed him, and thenceforward he directed the talk himself.
It was difficult to believe that this lively and animated old lady,
sitting beside me and taking so eager an interest in the affairs of
life, was practically, we understood, without the use of her lower
limbs, and that her whole existence for years had been passed between
the sofa, the bed, and the bath-chair in which she chatted so naturally
at the dinner-table. She made no allusion to her affliction until the
dessert was reached, and then, touching a bell, she made us a witty
little speech about leaving us “like time, on noiseless feet,” and was
wheeled out of the room by the butler and carried off to her apartments
at the other end of the house.
And the rest of us were not long in following suit, for Dr. Silence and
myself were quite as eager to learn the nature of our errand as our
host was to impart it to us. He led us down a long flagged passage to a
room at the very end of the house, a room provided with double doors,
and windows, I saw, heavily shuttered. Books lined the walls on every
side, and a large desk in the bow window was piled up with volumes,
some open, some shut, some showing scraps of paper stuck between the
leaves, and all smothered in a general cataract of untidy foolscap and
loose half sheets.
“My study and workroom,” explained Colonel Wragge, with a delightful
touch of innocent pride, as though he were a very serious scholar.
He placed arm-chairs for us round the fire. “Here,” he added
significantly, “we shall be safe from interruption and can talk
securely.”
During dinner the manner of the doctor had been all that was natural
and spontaneous, though it was impossible for me, knowing him as I
did, not to be aware that he was subconsciously very keenly alert and
already receiving upon the ultra-sensitive surface of his mind various
and vivid impressions; and there was now something in the gravity
of his face, as well as in the significant tone of Colonel Wragge’s
speech, and something, too, in the fact that we three were shut away in
this private chamber about to listen to things probably strange, and
certainly mysterious--something in all this that touched my imagination
sharply and sent an undeniable thrill along my nerves. Taking the chair
indicated by my host, I lit my cigar and waited for the opening of the
attack, fully conscious that we were now too far gone in the adventure
to admit of withdrawal, and wondering a little anxiously where it was
going to lead.
What I expected precisely, it is hard to say. Nothing definite,
perhaps. Only the sudden change was dramatic. A few hours before the
prosaic atmosphere of Piccadilly was about me, and now I was sitting in
a secret chamber of this remote old building waiting to hear an account
of things that held possibly the genuine heart of terror. I thought of
the dreary moors and hills outside, and the dark pine copses soughing
in the wind of night; I remembered my companion’s singular words up in
my bedroom before dinner; and then I turned and noted carefully the
stern countenance of the Colonel as he faced us and lit his big black
cigar before speaking.
The threshold of an adventure, I reflected as I waited for the first
words, is always the most thrilling moment--until the climax comes.
But Colonel Wragge hesitated--mentally--a long time before he began.
He talked briefly of our journey, the weather, the country, and other
comparatively trivial topics, while he sought about in his mind for an
appropriate entry into the subject that was uppermost in the thoughts
of all of us. The fact was he found it a difficult matter to speak of
at all, and it was Dr. Silence who finally showed him the way over the
hedge.
“Mr Hubbard will take a few notes when you are ready--you won’t
object,” he suggested; “I can give my undivided attention in this way.”
“By all means,” turning to reach some of the loose sheets on the
writing table, and glancing at me. He still hesitated a little, I
thought. “The fact is,” he said apologetically, “I wondered if it
was quite fair to trouble you so soon. The daylight might suit you
better to hear what I have to tell. Your sleep, I mean, might be less
disturbed, perhaps.”
“I appreciate your thoughtfulness,” John Silence replied with his
gentle smile, taking command as it were from that moment, “but really
we are both quite immune. There is nothing, I think, that could prevent
either of us sleeping, except--an outbreak of fire, or some such very
physical disturbance.”
Colonel Wragge raised his eyes and looked fixedly at him. This
reference to an outbreak of fire I felt sure was made with a purpose.
It certainly had the desired effect of removing from our host’s manner
the last signs of hesitancy.
“Forgive me,” he said. “Of course, I know nothing of your methods in
matters of this kind--so, perhaps, you would like me to begin at once
and give you an outline of the situation?”
Dr. Silence bowed his agreement. “I can then take my precautions
accordingly,” he added calmly.
The soldier looked up for a moment as though he did not quite gather
the meaning of these words; but he made no further comment and
turned at once to tackle a subject on which he evidently talked with
diffidence and unwillingness.
“It’s all so utterly out of my line of things,” he began, puffing out
clouds of cigar smoke between his words, “and there’s so little to tell
with any real evidence behind it, that it’s almost impossible to make
a consecutive story for you. It’s the total cumulative effect that is
so--so disquieting.” He chose his words with care, as though determined
not to travel one hair’s breadth beyond the truth.
“I came into this place twenty years ago when my elder brother died,”
he continued, “but could not afford to live here then. My sister, whom
you met at dinner, kept house for him till the end, and during all
these years, while I was seeing service abroad, she had an eye to the
place--for we never got a satisfactory tenant--and saw that it was not
allowed to go to ruin. I myself took possession, however, only a year
ago.
“My brother,” he went on, after a perceptible pause, “spent much of
his time away, too. He was a great traveller, and filled the house
with stuff he brought home from all over the world. The laundry--a
small detached building beyond the servants’ quarters--he turned into a
regular little museum. The curios and things I have cleared away--they
collected dust and were always getting broken--but the laundry-house
you shall see tomorrow.”
Colonel Wragge spoke with such deliberation and with so many pauses
that this beginning took him a long time. But at this point he came to
a full stop altogether. Evidently there was something he wished to say
that cost him considerable effort. At length he looked up steadily into
my companion’s face.
“May I ask you--that is, if you won’t think it strange,” he said, and a
sort of hush came over his voice and manner, “whether you have noticed
anything at all unusual--anything queer, since you came into the house?”
Dr. Silence answered without a moment’s hesitation.
“I have,” he said. “There is a curious sensation of heat in the place.”
“Ah!” exclaimed the other, with a slight start. “You _have_ noticed it.
This unaccountable heat----”
“But its cause, I gather, is not in the house itself--but outside,” I
was astonished to hear the doctor add.
Colonel Wragge rose from his chair and turned to unhook a framed map
that hung upon the wall. I got the impression that the movement was
made with the deliberate purpose of concealing his face.
“Your diagnosis, I believe, is amazingly accurate,” he said after a
moment, turning round with the map in his hands. “Though, of course, I
can have no idea how you should guess----”
John Silence shrugged his shoulders expressively. “Merely my
impression,” he said. “If you pay attention to impressions, and do not
allow them to be confused by deductions of the intellect, you will
often find them surprisingly, uncannily, accurate.”
Colonel Wragge resumed his seat and laid the map upon his knees. His
face was very thoughtful as he plunged abruptly again into his story.
“On coming into possession,” he said, looking us alternately in
the face, “I found a crop of stories of the most extraordinary and
impossible kind I had ever heard--stories which at first I treated with
amused indifference, but later was forced to regard seriously, if only
to keep my servants. These stories I thought I traced to the fact of my
brother’s death--and, in a way, I think so still.”
He leant forward and handed the map to Dr. Silence.
“It’s an old plan of the estate,” he explained, “but accurate enough
for our purpose, and I wish you would note the position of the
plantations marked upon it, especially those near the house. That
one,” indicating the spot with his finger, “is called the Twelve Acre
Plantation. It was just there, on the side nearest the house, that my
brother and the head keeper met their deaths.”
He spoke as a man forced to recognise facts that he deplored, and would
have preferred to leave untouched--things he personally would rather
have treated with ridicule if possible. It made his words peculiarly
dignified and impressive, and I listened with an increasing uneasiness
as to the sort of help the doctor would look to me for later. It seemed
as though I were a spectator of some drama of mystery in which any
moment I might be summoned to play a part.
“It was twenty years ago,” continued the Colonel, “but there was much
talk about it at the time, unfortunately, and you may, perhaps, have
heard of the affair. Stride, the keeper, was a passionate, hot-tempered
man, but I regret to say, so was my brother, and quarrels between them
seem to have been frequent.”
“I do not recall the affair,” said the doctor. “May I ask what was the
cause of death?” Something in his voice made me prick up my ears for
the reply.
“The keeper, it was said, from suffocation. And at the inquest the
doctors averred that both men had been dead the same length of time
when found.”
“And your brother?” asked John Silence, noticing the omission, and
listening intently.
“Equally mysterious,” said our host, speaking in a low voice with
effort. “But there was one distressing feature I think I ought to
mention. For those who saw the face--I did not see it myself--and
though Stride carried a gun its chambers were undischarged----” He
stammered and hesitated with confusion. Again that sense of terror
moved between his words. He stuck.
“Yes,” said the chief listener sympathetically.
“My brother’s face, they said, looked as though it had been scorched.
It had been swept, as it were, by something that burned--blasted. It
was, I am told, quite dreadful. The bodies were found lying side by
side, faces downwards, both pointing away from the wood, as though they
had been in the act of running, and not more than a dozen yards from
its edge.”
Dr. Silence made no comment. He appeared to be studying the map
attentively.
“I did not see the face myself,” repeated the other, his manner somehow
expressing the sense of awe he contrived to keep out of his voice,
“but my sister unfortunately did, and her present state I believe to
be entirely due to the shock it gave to her nerves. She never can be
brought to refer to it, naturally, and I am even inclined to think that
the memory has mercifully been permitted to vanish from her mind. But
she spoke of it at the time as a face swept by flame--blasted.”
John Silence looked up from his contemplation of the map, but with the
air of one who wished to listen, not to speak, and presently Colonel
Wragge went on with his account. He stood on the mat, his broad
shoulders hiding most of the mantelpiece.
“They all centred about this particular plantation, these stories. That
was to be expected, for the people here are as superstitious as Irish
peasantry, and though I made one or two examples among them to stop the
foolish talk, it had no effect, and new versions came to my ears every
week. You may imagine how little good dismissals did, when I tell you
that the servants dismissed themselves. It was not the house servants,
but the men who worked on the estate outside. The keepers gave notice
one after another, none of them with any reason I could accept; the
foresters refused to enter the wood, and the beaters to beat in it.
Word flew all over the countryside that Twelve Acre Plantation was a
place to be avoided, day or night.
“There came a point,” the Colonel went on, now well in his swing, “when
I felt compelled to make investigations on my own account. I could
not kill the thing by ignoring it; so I collected and analysed the
stories at first hand. For this Twelve Acre Wood, you will see by the
map, comes rather near home. Its lower end, if you will look, almost
touches the end of the back lawn, as I will show you tomorrow, and its
dense growth of pines forms the chief protection the house enjoys from
the east winds that blow up from the sea. And in olden days, before my
brother interfered with it and frightened all the game away, it was one
of the best pheasant coverts on the whole estate.”
“And what form, if I may ask, did this interference take?” asked Dr.
Silence.
“In detail, I cannot tell you, for I do not know--except that I
understand it was the subject of his frequent differences with the head
keeper; but during the last two years of his life, when he gave up
travelling and settled down here, he took a special interest in this
wood, and for some unaccountable reason began to build a low stone wall
round it. This wall was never finished, but you shall see the ruins
tomorrow in the daylight.”
“And the result of your investigations--these stories, I mean?” the
doctor broke in, anxious to keep him to the main issues.
“Yes, I’m coming to that,” he said slowly, “but the wood first, for
this wood out of which they grew like mushrooms has nothing in any way
peculiar about it. It is very thickly grown, and rises to a clearer
part in the centre, a sort of mound where there is a circle of large
boulders--old Druid stones, I’m told. At another place there’s a small
pond. There’s nothing distinctive about it that I could mention--just
an ordinary pine-wood, a very ordinary pine-wood--only the trees are a
bit twisted in the trunks, some of ’em, and very dense. Nothing more.
“And the stories? Well, none of them had anything to do with my poor
brother, or the keeper, as you might have expected; and they were all
odd--such odd things, I mean, to invent or imagine. I never could make
out how these people got such notions into their heads.”
He paused a moment to relight his cigar.
“There’s no regular path through it,” he resumed, puffing vigorously,
“but the fields round it are constantly used, and one of the gardeners
whose cottage lies over that way declared he often saw moving lights in
it at night, and luminous shapes like globes of fire over the tops of
the trees, skimming and floating, and making a soft hissing sound--most
of ’em said that, in fact--and another man saw shapes flitting in and
out among the trees, things that were neither men nor animals, and all
faintly luminous. No one ever pretended to see human forms--always
queer, huge things they could not properly describe. Sometimes the
whole wood was lit up, and one fellow--he’s still here and you shall
see him--has a most circumstantial yarn about having seen great stars
lying on the ground round the edge of the wood at regular intervals----”
“What kind of stars?” put in John Silence sharply, in a sudden way that
made me start.
“Oh, I don’t know quite; ordinary stars, I think he said, only very
large, and apparently blazing as though the ground was alight. He was
too terrified to go close and examine, and he has never seen them
since.”
He stooped and stirred the fire into a welcome blaze--welcome for its
blaze of light rather than for its heat. In the room there was already
a strange pervading sensation of warmth that was oppressive in its
effect and far from comforting.
“Of course,” he went on, straightening up again on the mat, “this was
all commonplace enough--this seeing lights and figures at night. Most
of these fellows drink, and imagination and terror between them may
account for almost anything. But others saw things in broad daylight.
One of the woodmen, a sober, respectable man, took the shortcut home to
his midday meal, and swore he was followed the whole length of the wood
by something that never showed itself, but dodged from tree to tree,
always keeping out of sight, yet solid enough to make the branches sway
and the twigs snap on the ground. And it made a noise, he declared--but
really”--the speaker stopped and gave a short laugh--“it’s too
absurd----”
“_Please!_” insisted the doctor; “for it is these small details that
give me the best clues always.”
“----it made a crackling noise, he said, like a bonfire. Those were his
very words: like the crackling of a bonfire,” finished the soldier,
with a repetition of his short laugh.
“Most interesting,” Dr. Silence observed gravely. “Please omit nothing.”
“Yes” he went on, “and it was soon after that the fires began--the
fires in the wood. They started mysteriously burning in the patches of
coarse white grass that cover the more open parts of the plantation. No
one ever actually saw them start, but many, myself among the number,
have seen them burning and smouldering. They are always small and
circular in shape, and for all the world like a picnic fire. The head
keeper has a dozen explanations, from sparks flying out of the house
chimneys to the sunlight focusing through a dewdrop, but none of them,
I must admit, convince me as being in the least likely or probable.
They are most singular, I consider, most singular, these mysterious
fires, and I am glad to say that they come only at rather long
intervals and never seem to spread.
“But the keeper had other queer stories as well, and about things that
are verifiable. He declared that no life ever willingly entered the
plantation; more, that no life existed in it at all. No birds nested in
the trees, or flew into their shade. He set countless traps, but never
caught so much as a rabbit or a weasel. Animals avoided it, and more
than once he had picked up dead creatures round the edges that bore no
obvious signs of how they had met their death.
“Moreover, he told me one extraordinary tale about his retriever
chasing some invisible creature across the field one day when he was
out with his gun. The dog suddenly pointed at something in the field at
his feet, and then gave chase, yelping like a mad thing. It followed
its imaginary quarry to the borders of the wood, and then went in--a
thing he had never known it to do before. The moment it crossed the
edge--it is darkish in there even in daylight--it began fighting
in the most frenzied and terrific fashion. It made him afraid to
interfere, he said. And at last, when the dog came out, hanging its
tail down and panting, he found something like white hair stuck to its
jaws, and brought it to show me. I tell you these details because----”
“They are important, believe me,” the doctor stopped him. “And you have
it still, this hair?” he asked.
“It disappeared in the oddest way,” the Colonel explained. “It was
curious looking stuff, something like asbestos, and I sent it to be
analysed by the local chemist. But either the man got wind of its
origin, or else he didn’t like the look of it for some reason, because
he returned it to me and said it was neither animal, vegetable, nor
mineral, so far as he could make out, and he didn’t wish to have
anything to do with it. I put it away in paper, but a week later, on
opening the package--it was gone! Oh, the stories are simply endless. I
could tell you hundreds all on the same lines.”
“And personal experiences of your own, Colonel Wragge?” asked John
Silence earnestly, his manner showing the greatest possible interest
and sympathy.
The soldier gave an almost imperceptible start. He looked distinctly
uncomfortable.
“Nothing, I think,” he said slowly, “nothing--er--I should like to rely
on. I mean nothing I have the right to speak of, perhaps--yet.”
His mouth closed with a snap. Dr. Silence, after waiting a little to
see if he would add to his reply, did not seek to press him on the
point.
“Well,” he resumed presently, and as though he would speak
contemptuously, yet dared not, “this sort of thing has gone on at
intervals ever since. It spreads like wildfire, of course, mysterious
chatter of this kind, and people began trespassing all over the estate,
coming to see the wood, and making themselves a general nuisance.
Notices of man-traps and spring-guns only seemed to increase their
persistence; and--think of it,” he snorted, “some local Research
Society actually wrote and asked permission for one of their members
to spend a night in the wood! Bolder fools, who didn’t write for
leave, came and took away bits of bark from the trees and gave them
to clairvoyants, who invented in their turn a further batch of tales.
There was simply no end to it all.”
“Most distressing and annoying, I can well believe,” interposed the
doctor.
“Then suddenly the phenomena ceased as mysteriously as they had begun,
and the interest flagged. The tales stopped. People got interested in
something else. It all seemed to die out. This was last July. I can
tell you exactly, for I’ve kept a diary more or less of what happened.”
“Ah!”
“But now, quite recently, within the past three weeks, it has all
revived again with a rush--with a kind of furious attack, so to speak.
It has really become unbearable. You may imagine what it means, and the
general state of affairs, when I say that the possibility of leaving
has occurred to me.”
“Incendiarism?” suggested Dr. Silence, half under his breath, but not
so low that Colonel Wragge did not hear him.
“By Jove, sir, you take the very words out of my mouth!” exclaimed
the astonished man, glancing from the doctor to me and from me to the
doctor, and rattling the money in his pocket as though some explanation
of my friend’s divining powers were to be found that way.
“It’s only that you are thinking very vividly,” the doctor said
quietly, “and your thoughts form pictures in my mind before you utter
them. It’s merely a little elementary thought-reading.”
His intention, I saw, was not to perplex the good man, but to impress
him with his powers so as to ensure obedience later.
“Good Lord! I had no idea----” He did not finish the sentence, and
dived again abruptly into his narrative.
“I did not see anything myself, I must admit, but the stories of
independent eye-witnesses were to the effect that lines of light, like
streams of thin fire, moved through the wood and sometimes were seen
to shoot out precisely as flames might shoot out--in the direction of
this house. There,” he explained, in a louder voice that made me jump,
pointing with a thick finger to the map, “where the westerly fringe of
the plantation comes up to the end of the lower lawn at the back of
the house--where it links on to those dark patches, which are laurel
shrubberies, running right up to the back premises--that’s where these
lights were seen. They passed from the wood to the shrubberies, and
in this way reached the house itself. Like silent rockets, one man
described them, rapid as lightning and exceedingly bright.”
“And this evidence you spoke of?”
“They actually reached the sides of the house. They’ve left a mark of
scorching on the walls--the walls of the laundry building at the other
end. You shall see ’em tomorrow.” He pointed to the map to indicate the
spot, and then straightened himself and glared about the room as though
he had said something no one could believe and expected contradiction.
“Scorched--just as the faces were,” the doctor murmured, looking
significantly at me.
“Scorched--yes,” repeated the Colonel, failing to catch the rest of the
sentence in his excitement.
There was a prolonged silence in the room, in which I heard the
gurgling of the oil in the lamp and the click of the coals and the
heavy breathing of our host. The most unwelcome sensations were
creeping about my spine, and I wondered whether my companion would
scorn me utterly if I asked to sleep on the sofa in his room. It was
eleven o’clock, I saw by the clock on the mantelpiece. We had crossed
the dividing line and were now well in the movement of the adventure.
The fight between my interest and my dread became acute. But, even if
turning back had been possible, I think the interest would have easily
gained the day.
“I have enemies, of course,” I heard the Colonel’s rough voice break
into the pause presently, “and have discharged a number of servants----”
“It’s not that,” put in John Silence briefly.
“You think not? In a sense I am glad, and yet--there are some things
that can be met and dealt with----”
He left the sentence unfinished, and looked down at the floor with
an expression of grim severity that betrayed a momentary glimpse of
character. This fighting man loathed and abhorred the thought of an
enemy he could not see and come to grips with. Presently he moved over
and sat down in the chair between us. Something like a sigh escaped
him. Dr. Silence said nothing.
“My sister, of course, is kept in ignorance, as far as possible, of all
this,” he said disconnectedly, and as if talking to himself. “But even
if she knew, she would find matter-of-fact explanations. I only wish I
could. I’m sure they exist.”
There came then an interval in the conversation that was very
significant. It did not seem a real pause, or the silence real silence,
for both men continued to think so rapidly and strongly that one almost
imagined their thoughts clothed themselves in words in the air of the
room. I was more than a little keyed up with the strange excitement
of all I had heard, but what stimulated my nerves more than anything
else was the obvious fact that the doctor was clearly upon the trail of
discovery. In his mind at that moment, I believe, he had already solved
the nature of this perplexing psychical problem. His face was like a
mask, and he employed the absolute minimum of gesture and words. All
his energies were directed inwards, and by those incalculable methods
and processes he had mastered with such infinite patience and study, I
felt sure he was already in touch with the forces behind these singular
phenomena and laying his deep plans for bringing them into the open,
and then effectively dealing with them.
Colonel Wragge meanwhile grew more and more fidgety. From time to time
he turned towards my companion, as though about to speak, yet always
changing his mind at the last moment. Once he went over and opened
the door suddenly, apparently to see if any one were listening at
the keyhole, for he disappeared a moment between the two doors, and I
then heard him open the outer one. He stood there for some seconds and
made a noise as though he were sniffing the air like a dog. Then he
closed both doors cautiously and came back to the fireplace. A strange
excitement seemed growing upon him. Evidently he was trying to make up
his mind to say something that he found it difficult to say. And John
Silence, as I rightly judged, was waiting patiently for him to choose
his own opportunity and his own way of saying it. At last he turned and
faced us, squaring his great shoulders, and stiffening perceptibly.
Dr. Silence looked up sympathetically.
“Your own experiences help me most,” he observed quietly.
“The fact is,” the Colonel said, speaking very low, “this past week
there have been outbreaks of fire in the house itself. Three separate
outbreaks--and all--in my sister’s room.”
“Yes,” the doctor said, as if this was just what he had expected to
hear.
“Utterly unaccountable--all of them,” added the other, and then sat
down. I began to understand something of the reason of his excitement.
He was realising at last that the “natural” explanation he had held to
all along was becoming impossible, and he hated it. It made him angry.
“Fortunately,” he went on, “she was out each time and does not know.
But I have made her sleep now in a room on the ground floor.”
“A wise precaution,” the doctor said simply. He asked one or two
questions. The fires had started in the curtains--once by the window
and once by the bed. The third time smoke had been discovered by the
maid coming from the cupboard, and it was found that Miss Wragge’s
clothes hanging on the hooks were smouldering. The doctor listened
attentively, but made no comment.
“And now can you tell me,” he said presently, “what your own feeling
about it is--your general impression?”
“It sounds foolish to say so,” replied the soldier, after a moment’s
hesitation, “but I feel exactly as I have often felt on active service
in my Indian campaigns: just as if the house and all in it were in a
state of siege; as though a concealed enemy were encamped about us--in
ambush somewhere.” He uttered a soft nervous laugh. “As if the next
sign of smoke would precipitate a panic--a dreadful panic.”
The picture came before me of the night shadowing the house, and the
twisted pine trees he had described crowding about it, concealing some
powerful enemy; and, glancing at the resolute face and figure of the
old soldier, forced at length to his confession, I understood something
of all he had been through before he sought the assistance of John
Silence.
“And tomorrow, unless I am mistaken, is full moon,” said the doctor
suddenly, watching the other’s face for the effect of his apparently
careless words.
Colonel Wragge gave an uncontrollable start, and his face for the first
time showed unmistakable pallor.
“What in the world----?” he began, his lip quivering.
“Only that I am beginning to see light in this extraordinary affair,”
returned the other calmly, “and, if my theory is correct, each month
when the moon is at the full should witness an increase in the activity
of the phenomena.”
“I don’t see the connection,” Colonel Wragge answered almost savagely,
“but I am bound to say my diary bears you out.” He wore the most
puzzled expression I have ever seen upon an honest face, but he
abhorred this additional corroboration of an explanation that perplexed
him.
“I confess,” he repeated; “I cannot see the connection.”
“Why should you?” said the doctor, with his first laugh that evening.
He got up and hung the map upon the wall again. “But I do--because
these things are my special study--and let me add that I have yet
to come across a problem that is not natural, and has not a natural
explanation. It’s merely a question of how much one knows--and admits.”
Colonel Wragge eyed him with a new and curious respect in his face. But
his feelings were soothed. Moreover, the doctor’s laugh and change of
manner came as a relief to all, and broke the spell of grave suspense
that had held us so long. We all rose and stretched our limbs, and took
little walks about the room.
“I am glad, Dr. Silence, if you will allow me to say so, that you are
here,” he said simply, “very glad indeed. And now I fear I have kept
you both up very late,” with a glance to include me, “for you must be
tired, and ready for your beds. I have told you all there is to tell,”
he added, “and tomorrow you must feel perfectly free to take any steps
you think necessary.”
The end was abrupt, yet natural, for there was nothing more to say, and
neither of these men talked for mere talking’s sake.
Out in the cold and chilly hall he lit our candles and took us
upstairs. The house was at rest and still, every one asleep. We moved
softly. Through the windows on the stairs we saw the moonlight falling
across the lawn, throwing deep shadows. The nearer pine trees were just
visible in the distance, a wall of impenetrable blackness.
Our host came for a moment to our rooms to see that we had everything.
He pointed to a coil of strong rope lying beside the window, fastened
to the wall by means of an iron ring. Evidently it had been recently
put in.
“I don’t think we shall need it,” Dr. Silence said, with a smile.
“I trust not,” replied our host gravely. “I sleep quite close to you
across the landing,” he whispered, pointing to his door, “and if
you--if you want anything in the night you will know where to find me.”
He wished us pleasant dreams and disappeared down the passage into his
room, shading the candle with his big muscular hand from the draughts.
John Silence stopped me a moment before I went.
“You know what it is?” I asked, with an excitement that even overcame
my weariness.
“Yes,” he said, “I’m almost sure. And you?”
“Not the smallest notion.”
He looked disappointed, but not half as disappointed as I felt.
“Egypt,” he whispered, “Egypt!”