“By jove! you’re right. Where’s the staircase?”
He looked me full in the eyes.
“Don’t you remember seeing a bolted door in a corner of your room? The
staircase runs from that door.”
I did remember it, and somehow the memory made me uncomfortable. I said
no more and decided not to refer to what had happened that night. It
occurred to me that Arthur might have been walking in his sleep.
* * * * *
October 8.—When I went for my walk on Tuesday I dropped in and saw Dr.
Lorraine, who is an old friend. He expressed some surprise at my run-down
condition and wrote me a prescription.
I am planning to go home next week. How pleasant it will be to walk in my
garden and listen to Mrs. O’Brien singing in the kitchen!
* * * * *
October 9.—Perhaps I had better postpone my trip. I casually mentioned it
to Arthur this morning.
He was lying relaxed on the sofa, but when I spoke of leaving he sat up
as straight as a bolt. His eyes fairly blazed.
“No, Tom, don’t go!” There was terror in his voice, and such pleading
that it wrung my heart.
“You’ve stood it alone here ten years,” I protested. “And now—”
“It’s not that,” he said. “But if you go, you will never come back.”
“Is that all the faith you have in me?”
“I’ve got faith, Tom. But if you go, you’ll never come back.”