“Hand me that grip, and don’t stir until I come back!” hissed Smith in my ear.
He turned and walked out of the library, his boots creaking very loudly in that awe-inspiring silence.
Standing beside the table, I watched the open door for his return, crushing down a dread that another form than his might suddenly appear there.
I could hear him moving from room to room, and presently, as I waited in hushed, tense watchfulness, he came in, depositing the grip upon the table. His eyes were gleaming feverishly.
“The house is haunted, Pearce!” he cried. “But no ghost ever frightened me! Come, I will show you your room.”
Smith walked ahead of me upstairs; he had snapped up the light in the hallway, and now he turned and cried back loudly:
“I fear we should never get servants to stay here.”
Again I detected the appeal to a hidden Audience; and there was something very uncanny in the idea. The house now was deathly still; the ringing had entirely subsided. In the upper corridor my companion, who seemed to be well acquainted with the position of the switches, again turned up all the lights, and in pursuit of the strange comedy which he saw fit to enact, addressed me continuously in the loud and unnatural voice which he had adopted as part of his disguise.
We looked into a number of rooms all well and comfortably furnished, but although my imagination may have been responsible for the idea, they all seemed to possess a chilly and repellent atmosphere. I felt that to essay sleep in any one of them would be the merest farce, that the place to all intents and purposes was uninhabitable, that something incalculably evil presided over the house.
And through it all, so obtuse was I, that no glimmer of the truth entered my mind. Outside again in the long, brightly lighted corridor, we stood for a moment as if a mutual anticipation of some new event pending had come to us. It was curious that sudden pulling up and silent questioning of one another; because, although we acted thus, no sound had reached us. A few seconds later our anticipation was realized. From the direction of the stairs it came--a low wailing in a woman’s voice; and the sweetness of the tones added to the terror of the sound. I clutched at Smith’s arm convulsively whilst that uncanny cry rose and fell--rose and fell--and died away.