You knew her, Malone You can guess what it meant to me. It was the night after the cremation . . . horrible, Malone, horrible! I saw the dear little body slide down, down . . . and then the glare of flame and the door clanged to.» His great body shook and he passed his big, hairy hand over his eyes.

«I don't know why I tell you this; the talk seemed to lead up to it. It may be a warning to you. That night – the night after the cremation – I sat up in the hall. She was there,» he nodded at Enid. «She had fallen asleep in a chair, poor girl. You know the house at Rotherfield, Malone. It was in the big hall. I sat by the fireplace, the room all draped in shadow, and my mind draped In shadow also. I should have sent her to bed, but she was lying back in her chair and I did not wish to wake her. It may have been one in the morning – I remember the moon shining through the stained-glass window. I sat and I brooded. Then suddenly there came a noise.»

«Yes, sir?»

«It was low at first just a ticking. Then it grew louder and more distinct – it was a clear rat-tat-tat. Now comes the queer coincidence, the sort of thing out of which legends grow when credulous folk have the shaping of them. You must know that my wife had a peculiar way of knocking at a door. It was really a little tune which she played with her fingers. I got into the some way so that we could each know when the other knocked. Well, it seemed to me – of course my mind was strained and abnormal – that the taps shaped themselves into the well-known rhythm of her knock. I couldn't localize it. You can think how eagerly I tried. It was above me, somewhere on the woodwork. I lost sense of time. I daresay it was repeated a dozen times at least.»

«Oh, Dad, you never told me!»

«No, but I woke you up.