For the dreadful signature of overmastering fear was written

plainly in that utter vacancy of the girlish face beside him; and

when, feeling his intense gaze, she turned to look at him, he

instinctively closed his eyes tightly to shut out the sight.

Yet, when he turned a minute later, his feelings well in hand, he

saw to his intense relief another expression; his aunt was smiling,

and though the face was deathly white, the awful veil had lifted and

the normal look was returning.

“Anything wrong?” was all he could think of to say at the moment.

And the answer was eloquent, coming from such a woman.

“I feel cold—and a little frightened,” she whispered.

He offered to close the window, but she seized hold of him and

begged him not to leave her side even for an instant.

“It’s upstairs, I know,” she whispered, with an odd half-laugh; ”

but I can’t possibly go up.”

But Shorthouse thought otherwise, knowing that in action lay their

best hope of self-control.

He took the brandy flask and poured out a glass of neat spirit,

stiff enough to help anybody over anything. She swallowed it with a

little shiver. His only idea now was to get out of the house before

her collapse became inevitable; but this could not safely be done by

turning tail and running from the enemy. Inaction was no longer

possible; every minute he was growing less master of himself, and

desperate, aggressive measures were imperative without further delay.

Moreover, the action must be taken towards the enemy, not away from

it; the climax, if necessary and unavoidable, would have to be faced

boldly. He could do it now; but in ten minutes he might not have the

force left to act for himself, much less for both!

Upstairs, the sounds were meanwhile becoming louder and closer,

accompanied by occasional creaking of the boards. Someone was moving

stealthily about, stumbling now and then awkwardly against the

furniture.

Waiting a few moments to allow the tremendous dose of spirits to

produce its effect, and knowing this would last but a short time under

the circumstances, Shorthouse then quietly got on his feet, saying in

a determined voice:

“Now Aunt Julia, we’ll go upstairs and find out what all this noise

is about. You must come too. It’s what we agreed.”

He picked up his stick and went to the cupboard for the candle. A

limp form rose shakily beside him breathing hard, and he heard a voice

say very faintly something about being “ready to come”. The woman’s

courage amazed him; it was so much greater than his own; and, as they

advanced, holding aloft the dripping candle, some subtle force exhaled

from this trembling, white-faced old woman at his side that was the

true source of his inspiration. It held something really great that

shamed him and gave him the support without which he would have proved

far less equal to the occasion.

They crossed the dark landing, avoiding with their eyes the deep

black space over the banisters. Then they began to mount the narrow

staircase to meet the sounds which, minute by minute, grew louder and

nearer. About half-way up the stairs Aunt Julia stumbled and

Shorthouse turned to catch her by the arm, and just at that moment

there came a terrific crash in the servants’ corridor overhead. It was

instantly followed by a shrill, agonised scream that was a cry of

terror and a cry for help melted into one.

Before they could move aside, or go down a single step, someone

came rushing along the passage overhead, blundering horribly, racing

madly, at full speed, three steps at a time, down the very staircase

where they stood. The steps were light and uncertain; but close behind

them sounded the heavier tread of another person, and the staircase

seemed to shake.

Shorthouse and his companion just had time to flatten themselves

against the wall when the jumble of flying steps was upon them, and

two persons, with the slightest possible interval between them, dashed

past at full speed. It was a perfect whirlwind of sound breaking in

upon the midnight silence of the empty building.

The two runners, pursuer and pursued, had passed clean through them

where they stood, and already with a thud the boards below had

received first one, then the other. Yet they had seen absolutely

nothing—not a hand, or arm, or face, or even a shred of flying

clothing.

There came a second’s pause.