I began to understand something of the reason of his excitement. He was realising at last that the “natural” explanation he had held to
all along was becoming impossible, and he hated it. It made him angry. “Fortunately,” he went on, “she was out each time and does not know. But I have made her sleep now in a room on the ground floor.”

“A wise precaution,” the doctor said simply. He asked one or two
questions. The fires had started in the curtains—once by the window and
once by the bed. The third time smoke had been discovered by the maid
coming from the cupboard, and it was found that Miss Wragge’s clothes
hanging on the hooks were smouldering. The doctor listened attentively,
but made no comment. “And now can you tell me,” he said presently, “what your own feeling
about it is—your general impression?”

“It sounds foolish to say so,” replied the soldier, after a moment’s
hesitation, “but I feel exactly as I have often felt on active service
in my Indian campaigns: just as if the house and all in it were in a
state of siege; as though a concealed enemy were encamped about us—in
ambush somewhere.” He uttered a soft nervous laugh. “As if the next
sign of smoke would precipitate a panic—a dreadful panic.”

The picture came before me of the night shadowing the house, and the
twisted pine trees he had described crowding about it, concealing some
powerful enemy; and, glancing at the resolute face and figure of the
old soldier, forced at length to his confession, I understood something
of all he had been through before he sought the assistance of John
Silence. “And tomorrow, unless I am mistaken, is full moon,” said the doctor
suddenly, watching the other’s face for the effect of his apparently
careless words. Colonel Wragge gave an uncontrollable start, and his face for the first
time showed unmistakable pallor. “What in the world—?” he began, his lip quivering. “Only that I am beginning to see light in this extraordinary affair,”
returned the other calmly, “and, if my theory is correct, each month
when the moon is at the full should witness an increase in the activity
of the phenomena.”

“I don’t see the connection,” Colonel Wragge answered almost savagely,
“but I am bound to say my diary bears you out.” He wore the most
puzzled expression I have ever seen upon an honest face, but he
abhorred this additional corroboration of an explanation that perplexed
him. “I confess,” he repeated, “I cannot see the connection.”

“Why should you?” said the doctor, with his first laugh that evening. He got up and hung the map upon the wall again. “But I do—because these
things are my special study—and let me add that I have yet to come
across a problem that is not natural, and has not a natural
explanation. It’s merely a question of how much one knows—and admits.”

Colonel Wragge eyed him with a new and curious respect in his face. But
his feelings were soothed. Moreover, the doctor’s laugh and change of
manner came as a relief to all, and broke the spell of grave suspense
that had held us so long. We all rose and stretched our limbs, and took
little walks about the room. “I am glad, Dr. Silence, if you will allow me to say so, that you are
here,” he said simply, “very glad indeed. And now I fear I have kept
you both up very late,” with a glance to include me, “for you must be
tired, and ready for your beds. I have told you all there is to tell,”
he added, “and tomorrow you must feel perfectly free to take any steps
you think necessary.”

The end was abrupt, yet natural, for there was nothing more to say, and
neither of these men talked for mere talking’s sake. Out in the cold and chilly hall he lit our candles and took us
upstairs. The house was at rest and still, every one asleep. We moved
softly. Through the windows on the stairs we saw the moonlight falling
across the lawn, throwing deep shadows. The nearer pine trees were just
visible in the distance, a wall of impenetrable blackness. Our host came for a moment to our rooms to see that we had everything. He pointed to a coil of strong rope lying beside the window, fastened
to the wall by means of an iron ring. Evidently it had been recently
put in. “I don’t think we shall need it,” Dr. Silence said, with a smile. “I trust not,” replied our host gravely. “I sleep quite close to you
across the landing,” he whispered, pointing to his door, “and if you—if
you want anything in the night you will know where to find me.”

He wished us pleasant dreams and disappeared down the passage into his
room, shading the candle with his big muscular hand from the draughts. John Silence stopped me a moment before I went. “You know what it is?” I asked, with an excitement that even overcame
my weariness. “Yes,” he said, “I’m almost sure. And you?”

“Not the smallest notion.”

He looked disappointed, but not half as disappointed as I felt. “Egypt,” he whispered, “Egypt!”

II

Nothing happened to disturb me in the night—nothing, that is, except a
nightmare in which Colonel Wragge chased me amid thin streaks of fire,
and his sister always prevented my escape by suddenly rising up out of
the ground in her chair—dead. The deep baying of dogs woke me once,
just before the dawn, it must have been, for I saw the window frame
against the sky; there was a flash of lightning, too, I thought, as I
turned over in bed. And it was warm, for October oppressively warm. It was after eleven o’clock when our host suggested going out with the
guns, these, we understood, being a somewhat thin disguise for our true
purpose. Personally, I was glad to be in the open air, for the
atmosphere of the house was heavy with presentiment. The sense of
impending disaster hung over all. Fear stalked the passages, and lurked
in the corners of every room. It was a house haunted, but really
haunted; not by some vague shadow of the dead, but by a definite though
incalculable influence that was actively alive, and dangerous. At the
least smell of smoke the entire household quivered. An odour of
burning, I was convinced, would paralyse all the inmates. For the
servants, though professedly ignorant by the master’s unspoken orders,
yet shared the common dread; and the hideous uncertainty, joined with
this display of so spiteful and calculated a spirit of malignity,
provided a kind of black doom that draped not only the walls, but also
the minds of the people living within them. Only the bright and cheerful vision of old Miss Wragge being pushed
about the house in her noiseless chair, chatting and nodding briskly to
every one she met, prevented us from giving way entirely to the
depression which governed the majority. The sight of her was like a
gleam of sunshine through the depths of some ill-omened wood, and just
as we went out I saw her being wheeled along by her attendant into the
sunshine of the back lawn, and caught her cheery smile as she turned
her head and wished us good sport. The morning was October at its best.