sudden drafts of air may have been the cause of the delusions.
This incident, Marc, was just the forerunner of the odd things that have been occurring since then. I am about to enumerate the most important of these incidents to you, and I hope you will be able to explain them.
Three days ago activities started in earnest. At that date Mortimer came to me and breathlessly informed me that no light could be kept in the cellar. Leon and I investigated and found that under no circumstances could a lamp or match be kept lit in the cellar, just as Mortimer had said. My only explanation of this is that it is due to the air currents in the cellar, which seem disturbed. It is true a flashlight could be kept alight, but even that seemed dimmed. I can not attempt to explain the later fact.
Yesterday, Leon, who is a devout Catholic, took a few drops from a flask of holy water, which he continually carries with him, and descended into the cellar with the firm intention of driving out, if there were therein ensconced, any evil spirits. On the bottom of the steps I noticed, some time ago, a large stone tablet. As Leon came down the steps, a large drop of the blessed fluid fell on this tablet. The drop of water actually sizzled while Leon muttered some incantations, in the midst of which he suddenly stopped and fled precipitantly, mumbling that the cellar was incontestably the very entrance to hell, guarded by the fiend incarnate, himself! I confess to you, my dear Marc, that I was astounded at this remarkable occurrence.
Last night, while the three of us sat together in the spacious drawing room of this building, the lamp was blown out. I say "blown out" because there is no doubt that it was, and by some superhuman agency. There was not a breath of air stirring outside, yet I, who was sitting just across from the lamp, felt a cool draft. No one else noticed this draft. It was just as if someone directly opposite me had blown forcibly at the lamp, or as if the wing of a powerful bird had passed by it.
There can be no doubt there is something radically wrong in this house, and I am determined to find out what it is, regardless of consequences.
(Here the letter terminates abruptly, as if it were to he completed at a letter date.)
The two doctors bending over the body of Sir Harry Barclay in Lohrville Manor at last ceased their examinations.
"I can not account for this astounding loss of blood, Dr. Mordaunt."
"Neither can I, Dr. Greene. He is so devoid of blood that some supernatural agency must have kept him alive!" He laughed lightly.
"About this loss of blood—I was figuring on internal hemorrhages as the cause, but there are absolutely no signs of anything of the sort. According to the expression of his features, which is too horrible for even me to gaze at"
"And me."
"he died from some terrible fear of something, or else he witnessed some horrifying scene."
"Most likely the latter."
"I think we had better pronounce death due to internal hemorrhage and apoplexy."
"I agree."
"Then we shall do so."
The physicians bent over the open book on the table. Suddenly Dr. Greene straightened up and his hand delved into his pocket and came out with a match.
"Here is a match, Dr. Mordaunt. Scratch it and apply the flame to that book and say nothing to anyone."
"It is for the best."
