and I knew from the reassuring manner of the doctor that she was in no danger. While I continued to ply the improvised fan I could hear the doctor, or someone, moving about the house.
Presently the girl's eyelids fluttered, and she began talking—her words disconnected and broken like those of one in a dream.
"Saw it—saw—spirit—Uncle Gordon. Must be—be his—ghost. Saw—put arm—through it."
Lightly I placed my hand on the smooth, cool forehead. Then she opened her eyes and looked earnestly into mine.
"What—what was I saying?" she asked, apparently quite bewildered.
"You fainted," I replied. "Don't worry. Everything is all right."
"But where is Dr. Dorp?"
"Just went in the house to look around. He'll be out in a few minutes, no doubt."
We waited a full twenty minutes, but still the doctor did not appear. Miss Van Loan had taken one of the wicker porch chairs, assuring me that she had fully recovered. I was sitting in another. All sounds in the house had ceased, and I began to feel some apprehension for the doctor's safety.
"Do you mind staying alone for a few minutes?" I asked. "I should like to go and see if my friend is all right."
"I'll go with you," she replied, rising.
"Are you sure you are strong enough?"
"Of course. Oh, I do hope nothing happened to him. I should never forgive myself."
We met the pale house man in the hall.
"Where is the doctor, Riggs?" she asked.
"I don't know, ma'am. I heard someone goin' up the stairs a while ago. Might have been him."
"You haven't seen him?"
"No ma'am. I come in just now to ask if you would be a-needin' of me any more this evenin'. I feel sort of tired like, after—"
"I know, Riggs. You haven't had much rest for the last three nights. You may go."
"Thank you, ma'am."
We ascended the stairs, the steps of which creaked weirdly under our weight. I could readily understand why Riggs had been able to hear them from the service quarters.
At the top was a long hallway with a door at one end, a window at the other, and two doors on either side.
Miss Van Loan opened the first door at our right, and we entered a bedroom daintily furnished in cane and ivory, with light blue hangings and spreads.
"This is my room," she informed me. "We have four bedrooms, each with a private bath and clothes closet."
I looked into the bath and clothes closet, but both were untenanted. Then we passed to the next room. This was furnished in burled walnut, with light green the prevailing color. No sign of the doctor here. The next room, which was just across the hall, was furnished in massive oak, with a taupe and maroon color scheme. Somehow it seemed thoroughly a man's room.
"This belonged to Uncle Gordon," said the girl. "It was in that bed that he died."
I looked at the bed and somehow the gray and maroon of the bolster and spread reminded me of blood trickling over a sacrificial slab of granite. With this thought came an inexplicable feeling of horror which I could not shake off.
"IT is back!" said the girl, suddenly, a note of terror in her voice.
She must have had the same feeling as I, at the same time, although nothing startling had happened—at least nothing that either of us could perceive with the aid of our five senses. The bath-room was empty, and I had started for the door of the closet, when the lights suddenly went out. Once more I was conscious of the peculiar, dusty odor I had detected in the room below.
girl shrieked. Then as if in answer to her cry, I heard a hollow groan and five distinct raps, apparently coming from the direction of the bed.
The door of the closet which I had not searched was not more than a foot from the head of the bed. I could still see it, though indistinctly, by the dim, gray light which came in through the window. Although I am not superstitious, a nameless dread assailed me at the thought of approaching nearer to that bed in which the former owner of the house had breathed his last. I hesitated, berating myself for a coward and weakling—then forced myself toward the door.
As I did so, I heard more raps, not quite so pronounced as formerly, then another moan, and sounds like those of a person gasping for breath. On reaching the door, I turned the knob, but found it locked. Then my fingers touched a key just below it. I turned this with difficulty. It seemed that either the lock was stuck, or something was resisting my efforts. Releasing the key, I once more attempted to open the door. Before I could turn the knob, however, the door again locked itself. From somewhere nearby, I heard a sound which plainly resembled the death rattle!
Once more I succeeded in unlocking the door, although the key was bent in the process. Then, holding the key with my left hand, I turned the knob with my right, and applied my shoulder to the door. Someone, or some thing, was pushing against it on the other side. At first I only succeeded in moving it a fraction of an inch. Gathering my strength for a supreme effort, I forced it wide open. As I did so, a rush of icy cold air enveloped me from head to foot. Hot and perspiring from my exertions as I was, it chilled me to the marrow. My teeth chattered, and I shivered as if I had suddenly been immersed in ice water.
Within the closet, all was black, as no light reached it from the window.
Holding one foot against the door, which was still resisting my efforts, I lighted a match. It went out almost as soon as I struck it, but I had seen enough. Beneath a mound of clothing,
