“Come on, aunt. There’s nothing there.”

He dragged her forward. With a clattering of feet and a great

appearance of boldness they went on, but over his body the skin moved

as if crawling ants covered it, and he knew by the weight on his arm

that he was supplying the force of locomotion for two. The scullery was

cold, bare, and empty; more like a large prison cell than anything

else. They went round it, tried the door into the yard, and the

windows, but found them all fastened securely. His aunt moved beside

him like a person in a dream. Her eyes were tightly shut, and she

seemed merely to follow the pressure of his arm. Her courage filled

him with amazement. At the same time he noticed that a certain odd

change had come over her face, which somehow evaded his power of

analysis.

“There’s nothing here, aunty,” he repeated aloud quickly. “Let’s go

upstairs and see the rest of the house. Then we’ll choose a room to

wait up in.”

She followed him obediently, keeping close to his side, and they

locked the kitchen door behind them. It was a relief to get tip again.

In the hall there was more light than before, for the moon had

travelled a little further down the stairs. Cautiously they began to go

up into the dark vault of the upper house, the boards creaking under

their weight.

On the first floor they found the large double drawing-rooms, a

search of which revealed nothing. Here also was no sign of furniture

or recent occupancy; nothing but dust and neglect and shadows. They

opened the big folding doors between front and back drawing-rooms and

then came out again to the landing and went on upstairs.

They had not gone up more than a dozen steps when they both

simultaneously stopped to listen, looking into each other’s eyes with

a new apprehension across the flickering candle flame.

From the room they had left hardly ten seconds before came the

sound of doors quietly closing.

It was beyond all question; they heard the booming noise that

accompanies the shutting of heavy doors, followed by the sharp

catching of the latch.

“We must go back and see,” said Shorthouse briefly, in a low tone,

and turning to go downstairs again.

Somehow she managed to drag after him, her feet catching in her

dress, her face livid.

When they entered the front drawing-room it was plain that the

folding doors had been closed—half a minute before. Without

hesitation Shorthouse opened them. He almost expected to see someone

facing him in the back room; but only darkness and cold air met him.

They went through both rooms, finding nothing unusual. They tried in

every way to make the doors close of themselves, but there was not

wind enough even to set the candle flame flickering. The doors would

not move without strong pressure. All was silent as the grave.

Undeniably the rooms were utterly empty, and the house utterly still.