"Will you come to the door with me, and look for it now?"
He bit his under lip as though he were somewhat unwilling, but arose.
I opened the door, and stood on the step, while he stood in the
doorway. There was the Danger-light. There was the dismal mouth of
the tunnel. There were the high, wet stone walls of the cutting.
There were the stars above them.
"Do you see it?" I asked him, taking particular note of his face.
His eyes were prominent and strained, but not very much more so,
perhaps, than my own had been when I had directed them earnestly
toward the same spot.
"No," he answered. "It is not there."
"Agreed," said I.
We went in again, shut the door, and resumed our seats. I was
thinking how best to improve this advantage, if it might be called
one, when he took up the conversation in such a matter-of-course way,
so assuming that there could be no serious question of fact between
us, that I felt myself placed in the weakest of positions.
"By this time you will fully understand, sir," he said, "that what
troubles me so dreadfully is the question, What does the spectre
mean?"