hryn, coming to await the end of his uncanny experiment after beating the drum on the moors around Charmingdene. From the shadow of a rock I observed him picking his way with electric torch towards the entrance of the hut. He entered, moving softly, and by the light of the torch looked down into the waters of the pit. Then with a quick nervous gesture he threw the drum down on the floor. The next moment he came forth again, and retraced his steps swiftly across the rocks to the spot where he had left his car.
"Evidently he had forgotten or overlooked something, and I knew he would return to watch for the arrival of Edward Chesworth at the hut. The thought of the drum Penhryn had left inside the hut gave me the idea of beating it myself, just to see what effect it would have upon him. I slipped in through the open door, and by the light of my own torch picked up the drum. And there I stood in the dark, waiting for his return.
"At length I again heard the sound of footsteps on the rocks, and saw the moving disc of Penhryn's torch. The light shot clear of the rocks, and grew more bright and distinct as he approached the hut. Within, I stood motionless. As he came near, I gave the drum a few faint taps.
"He stopped instantly. I had one glimpse of his white face uplifted in startled consciousness. Then the torch he carried dropped clattering on the rocks, and fell with a faint splash into some hidden pool. In the darkness I could hear him panting hurriedly, like a man labouring for breath in fear. Strange that one who had devised such a deception should have no suspicion of a trick! I tapped the drum again. In that instant he seemed to lose his reason, and appeared to believe in Death's drum himself. He gave a loud cry, and fled across the rocks. I followed him. The rest you know. Penhryn deserved a lesson if ever man did, but I'm sorry it has ended like this."
I was silent. Indeed, at the moment I could not find anything to say. Long as I had known Colwin Grey, I was confounded at the swiftness and cleverness with which he had penetrated into the heart of this dark mystery, and surprised at my own blindness throughout the whole affair. But the latter feeling quickly passed. I was not Grey. Who else could have solved this strange problem but the man who sat opposite me, his head tilted slightly backwards, his clear-cut face pale and thoughtful, in the white rays of the lamp? He looked up, and answered my glance with a rather fatigued smile. Then, with a look at his watch, he rose to his feet.
"Come, Haldham," he said, "we had better get back to Penzance. Dawn is not so very far away."
I rose to my feet also.
"How much are Edward Chesworth and his sister to be told of this?" I asked. "Will you tell them yourself?"
"No; that is a matter I will leave to you," he returned. "I must go back to town in the morning, now that I have found you. You can go and see them as soon as I have gone. I think you had better tell them everything, and set their minds at rest. But I do not think it will be wise to reveal the entire story to anyone else. It is something best forgotten."
"I feel sure you are right," I agreed thoughtfully. "But do you know, Grey, there is something about it that puzzles me even now. After making every allowance for Edward Chesworth, I cannot understand how he permitted himself to sink into such a pitiable state of fear."
"Well, I can," replied Grey gravely. "In fact, the wonder is that he did not actually die of fear. For months past the whole of his faculties, waking and sleeping, have been engrossed by a single sensation to the exclusion of all other things, and there can be no doubt that his experience in the 'Valley of Ghosts' was of a harrowing kind. At Charmingdene he was in a state of mind which suggestionists call 'fixation proper.' In other words, his obsession or delusion—call it whichever you will—dominated him without cessation."
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