was now something in the gravity of his face, aswell as in the significant tone of Colonel Wragge's speech, andsomething, too, in the fact that we three were shut away in this privatechamber about to listen to things probably strange, and certainlymysterious--something in all this that touched my imagination sharplyand sent an undeniable thrill along my nerves. Taking the chairindicated by my host, I lit my cigar and waited for the opening of theattack, fully conscious that we were now too far gone in the adventureto admit of withdrawal, and wondering a little anxiously where it wasgoing to lead.
What I expected precisely, it is hard to say. Nothing definite, perhaps.Only the sudden change was dramatic. A few hours before the prosaicatmosphere of Piccadilly was about me, and now I was sitting in a secretchamber of this remote old building waiting to hear an account of thingsthat held possibly the genuine heart of terror. I thought of the drearymoors and hills outside, and the dark pine copses soughing in the windof night; I remembered my companion's singular words up in my bedroombefore dinner; and then I turned and noted carefully the sterncountenance of the Colonel as he faced us and lit his big black cigarbefore speaking.
The threshold of an adventure, I reflected as I waited for the firstwords, is always the most thrilling moment--until the climax comes.
But Colonel Wragge hesitated--mentally--a long time before he began. Hetalked briefly of our journey, the weather, the country, and othercomparatively trivial topics, while he sought about in his mind for anappropriate entry into the subject that was uppermost in the thoughts ofall of us. The fact was he found it a difficult matter to speak of atall, and it was Dr. Silence who finally showed him the way over thehedge.
"Mr. Hubbard will take a few notes when you are ready--you won'tobject," he suggested; "I can give my undivided attention in this way."
"By all means," turning to reach some of the loose sheets on the writingtable, and glancing at me. He still hesitated a little, I thought. "Thefact is," he said apologetically, "I wondered if it was quite fair totrouble you so soon. The daylight might suit you better to hear what Ihave to tell. Your sleep, I mean, might be less disturbed, perhaps."
"I appreciate your thoughtfulness," John Silence replied with his gentlesmile, taking command as it were from that moment, "but really we areboth quite immune. There is nothing, I think, that could prevent eitherof us sleeping, except--an outbreak of fire, or some such very physicaldisturbance."
Colonel Wragge raised his eyes and looked fixedly at him. This referenceto an outbreak of fire I felt sure was made with a purpose. It certainlyhad the desired effect of removing from our host's manner the last signsof hesitancy.
"Forgive me," he said. "Of course, I know nothing of your methods inmatters of this kind--so, perhaps, you would like me to begin at onceand give you an outline of the situation?"
Dr. Silence bowed his agreement. "I can then take my precautionsaccordingly," he added calmly.
The soldier looked up for a moment as though he did not quite gather themeaning of these words; but he made no further comment and turned atonce to tackle a subject on which he evidently talked with diffidenceand unwillingness.
"It's all so utterly out of my line of things," he began, puffing outclouds of cigar smoke between his words, "and there's so little to tellwith any real evidence behind it, that it's almost impossible to make aconsecutive story for you. It's the total cumulative effect that isso--so disquieting." He chose his words with care, as though determinednot to travel one hair's breadth beyond the truth.
"I came into this place twenty years ago when my elder brother died," hecontinued, "but could not afford to live here then. My sister, whom youmet at dinner, kept house for him till the end, and during all theseyears, while I was seeing service abroad, she had an eye to theplace--for we never got a satisfactory tenant--and saw that it was notallowed to go to ruin. I myself took possession, however, only a yearago.
"My brother," he went on, after a perceptible pause, "spent much of histime away, too. He was a great traveller, and filled the house withstuff he brought home from all over the world. The laundry--a smalldetached building beyond the servants' quarters--he turned into aregular little museum. The curios and things I have cleared away--theycollected dust and were always getting broken--but the laundry-house youshall see tomorrow."
Colonel Wragge spoke with such deliberation and with so many pauses thatthis beginning took him a long time. But at this point he came to a fullstop altogether. Evidently there was something he wished to say thatcost him considerable effort. At length he looked up steadily into mycompanion's face.
"May I ask you--that is, if you won't think it strange," he said, and asort of hush came over his voice and manner, "whether you have noticedanything at all unusual--anything queer, since you came into the house?"
Dr. Silence answered without a moment's hesitation.
"I have," he said. "There is a curious sensation of heat in the place."
"Ah!" exclaimed the other, with a slight start. "You _have_ noticed it.This unaccountable heat--"
"But its cause, I gather, is not in the house itself--but outside," Iwas astonished to hear the doctor add.
Colonel Wragge rose from his chair and turned to unhook a framed mapthat hung upon the wall. I got the impression that the movement was madewith the deliberate purpose of concealing his face.
"Your diagnosis, I believe, is amazingly accurate," he said after amoment, turning round with the map in his hands. "Though, of course, Ican have no idea how you should guess--"
John Silence shrugged his shoulders expressively. "Merely myimpression," he said. "If you pay attention to impressions, and do notallow them to be confused by deductions of the intellect, you will oftenfind them surprisingly, uncannily, accurate."
Colonel Wragge resumed his seat and laid the map upon his knees. Hisface was very thoughtful as he plunged abruptly again into his story.
"On coming into possession," he said, looking us alternately in theface, "I found a crop of stories of the most extraordinary andimpossible kind I had ever heard--stories which at first I treated withamused indifference, but later was forced to regard seriously, if onlyto keep my servants. These stories I thought I traced to the fact of mybrother's death--and, in a way, I think so still."
He leant forward and handed the map to Dr. Silence.
"It's an old plan of the estate," he explained, "but accurate enough forour purpose, and I wish you would note the position of the plantationsmarked upon it, especially those near the house. That one," indicatingthe spot with his finger, "is called the Twelve Acre Plantation. It wasjust there, on the side nearest the house, that my brother and the headkeeper met their deaths."
He spoke as a man forced to recognise facts that he deplored, and wouldhave preferred to leave untouched--things he personally would ratherhave treated with ridicule if possible. It made his words peculiarlydignified and impressive, and I listened with an increasing uneasinessas to the sort of help the doctor would look to me for later. It seemedas though I were a spectator of some drama of mystery in which anymoment I might be summoned to play a part.
"It was twenty years ago," continued the Colonel, "but there was muchtalk about it at the time, unfortunately, and you may, perhaps, haveheard of the affair. Stride, the keeper, was a passionate, hot-temperedman but I regret to say, so was my brother, and quarrels between themseem to have been frequent."
"I do not recall the affair," said the doctor. "May I ask what was thecause of death?" Something in his voice made me prick up my ears for thereply.
"The keeper, it was said, from suffocation. And at the inquest thedoctors averred that both men had been dead the same length of time whenfound."
"And your brother?" asked John Silence, noticing the omission, andlistening intently.
"Equally mysterious," said our host, speaking in a low voice witheffort. "But there was one distressing feature I think I ought tomention. For those who saw the face--I did not see it myself--and thoughStride carried a gun its chambers were undischarged-
-" He stammeredand hesitated with confusion. Again that sense of terror moved betweenhis words. He stuck.
"Yes," said the chief listener sympathetically.
"My brother's face, they said, looked as though it had been scorched. Ithad been swept, as it were, by something that burned--blasted. It was, Iam told, quite dreadful. The bodies were found lying side by side, facesdownwards, both pointing away from the wood, as though they had been inthe act of running, and not more than a dozen yards from its edge."
Dr. Silence made no comment. He appeared to be studying the mapattentively.
"I did not see the face myself," repeated the