He agreed to go.

Instinctively, by a sort of sub-conscious preparation, he kept

himself and his forces well in hand the whole evening, compelling an

accumulative reserve of control by that nameless inward process of

gradually putting all the emotions away and turning the key upon

them—a process difficult to describe, but wonderfully effective, as

all men who have lived through severe trials of the inner man well

understand. Later, it stood him in good stead.

But it was not until half-past ten, when they stood in the hall,

well in the glare of friendly lamps and still surrounded by comforting

human influences, that he had to make the first call upon this store

of collected strength. For, once the door was closed, and he saw the

deserted.silent street stretching away white in the moonlight before

them, it came to him clearly that the real test that night would be in

dealing with two fears instead of one. He would have to carry his

aunt’s fear as well as his own. And, as he glanced down at her

sphinx-like countenance and realised that it might assume no pleasant

aspect in a rush of real terror, he felt satisfied with only one thing

in the whole adventure—that he had confidence in his own will and

power to stand against any shock that might come.

Slowly they walked along the empty streets of the town; a bright

autumn moon silvered the roofs, casting deep shadows; there was no

breath of wind; and the trees in the formal gardens by the sea-front

watched them silently as they passed along. To his aunt’s occasional

remarks Shorthouse made no reply, realising that she was simply

surrounding herself with mental buffers—saying ordinary things to

prevent herself thinking of extraordinary things. Few windows showed

lights, and from scarcely a single chimney came smoke or sparks.

Shorthouse had already begun to notice everything, even the smallest

details. Presently they stopped at the street corner and looked up at

the name on the side of the house full in the moonlight, and with one

accord, but without remark, turned into the square and crossed over to

the side of it that lay in shadow.

“The number of the house is thirteen,” whispered a voice at his

side; and neither of them made the obvious reference, but passed

across the broad sheet of moonlight and began to march up the pavement

in silence.

It was about half-way up the square that Shorthouse felt an arm

slipped quietly but significantly into his own, and knew then that

their adventure had begun in earnest, and that his companion was

already yielding imperceptibly to the influences against them. She

needed support.

A few minutes later they stopped before a tall, narrow house that

rose before them into the night, ugly in shape and painted a dingy

white. Shutterless windows, without blinds, stared down upon them,

shining here and there in the moonlight. There were weather streaks in

the wall and cracks in the paint, and the balcony bulged out from the

first floor a little unnaturally. But, beyond this generally forlorn

appearance of an occupied house, there was nothing at first sight to

single out this particular mansion for the evil character it had most

certainly acquired.

Taking a look over their shoulders to make sure they had not been

followed, they went boldly up the steps and stood against the huge

black door that fronted them forbiddingly. But the first wave of

nervousness was now upon them, and Shorthouse fumbled a long time with

the key before he could fit it into the lock at all. For a moment, if

truth were told, they both hoped it would not open, for they were a

prey to various unpleasant emotions as they stood there on the

threshold of their ghostly adventure. Shorthouse, shuffling with the

key and hampered by the steady weight on his arm, certainly felt the

solemnity of the moment. It was as if the whole world—for all

experience seemed at that instant concentrated in his own

consciousness—were listening to the grating noise of that key. A

stray puff of wind wandering down the empty street woke a momentary

rustling in the trees behind them, but otherwise this rattling of the

key was the only sound audible; and at last it turned in the lock and

the heavy door swung open and revealed a yawning gulf of darkness

beyond.

With a last glance at the moonlit square, they passed quickly in

and the door slammed behind them with a roar that echoed prodigiously

through empty halls and passages. But, instantly, with the echoes,

another sound made itself heard, and Aunt Julia leaned suddenly so

heavily upon him that he had to take a step backwards to save himself

from falling.

A man had coughed close beside him—so close that it seemed they

must have been actually.by his side in the darkness.

With the possibility of practical jokes in his mind, Shorthouse at

once swung his heavy stick in the direction of the sound; but it met

nothing more solid than air. He heard his aunt give a little gasp

beside him.