It was difficult to believe that this lively and animated old lady,
sitting beside me and taking so eager an interest in the affairs of
life, was practically, we understood, without the use of her lower
limbs, and that her whole existence for years had been passed between
the sofa, the bed, and the bath-chair in which she chatted so naturally
at the dinner table. She made no allusion to her affliction until the
dessert was reached, and then, touching a bell, she made us a witty
little speech about leaving us “like time, on noiseless feet,” and was
wheeled out of the room by the butler and carried off to her apartments
at the other end of the house. And the rest of us were not long in following suit, for Dr. Silence and
myself were quite as eager to learn the nature of our errand as our
host was to impart it to us. He led us down a long flagged passage to a
room at the very end of the house, a room provided with double doors,
and windows, I saw, heavily shuttered. Books lined the walls on every
side, and a large desk in the bow window was piled up with volumes,
some open, some shut, some showing scraps of paper stuck between the
leaves, and all smothered in a general cataract of untidy foolscap and
loose-half sheets. “My study and workroom,” explained Colonel Wragge, with a delightful
touch of innocent pride, as though he were a very serious scholar. He
placed arm-chairs for us round the fire. “Here,” he added
significantly, “we shall be safe from interruption and can talk
securely.”

During dinner the manner of the doctor had been all that was natural
and spontaneous, though it was impossible for me, knowing him as I did,
not to be aware that he was subconsciously very keenly alert and
already receiving upon the ultra-sensitive surface of his mind various
and vivid impressions; and there was now something in the gravity of
his face, as well as in the significant tone of Colonel Wragge’s
speech, and something, too, in the fact that we three were shut away in
this private chamber about to listen to things probably strange, and
certainly mysterious—something in all this that touched my imagination
sharply and sent an undeniable thrill along my nerves. Taking the chair
indicated by my host, I lit my cigar and waited for the opening of the
attack, fully conscious that we were now too far gone in the adventure
to admit of withdrawal, and wondering a little anxiously where it was
going 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
prosaic atmosphere of Piccadilly was about me, and now I was sitting in
a secret chamber of this remote old building waiting to hear an account
of things that held possibly the genuine heart of terror. I thought of
the dreary moors and hills outside, and the dark pine copses soughing
in the wind of night; I remembered my companion’s singular words up in
my bedroom before dinner; and then I turned and noted carefully the
stern countenance of the Colonel as he faced us and lit his big black
cigar before speaking. The threshold of an adventure, I reflected as I waited for the first
words, is always the most thrilling moment—until the climax comes. But Colonel Wragge hesitated—mentally—a long time before he began. He
talked briefly of our journey, the weather, the country, and other
comparatively trivial topics, while he sought about in his mind for an
appropriate entry into the subject that was uppermost in the thoughts
of all of us. The fact was he found it a difficult matter to speak of
at all, and it was Dr. Silence who finally showed him the way over the
hedge. “Mr. Hubbard will take a few notes when you are ready—you won’t
object,” he suggested; “I can give my undivided attention in this way.”

“By all means,” turning to reach some of the loose sheets on the
writing table, and glancing at me. He still hesitated a little, I
thought. “The fact is,” he said apologetically, “I wondered if it was
quite fair to trouble you so soon. The daylight might suit you better
to hear what I have to tell. Your sleep, I mean, might be less
disturbed, perhaps.”

“I appreciate your thoughtfulness,” John Silence replied with his
gentle smile, taking command as it were from that moment, “but really
we are both quite immune. There is nothing, I think, that could prevent
either of us sleeping, except—an outbreak of fire, or some such very
physical disturbance.”

Colonel Wragge raised his eyes and looked fixedly at him. This
reference to an outbreak of fire I felt sure was made with a purpose. It certainly had the desired effect of removing from our host’s manner
the last signs of hesitancy. “Forgive me,” he said. “Of course, I know nothing of your methods in
matters of this kind—so, perhaps, you would like me to begin at once
and give you an outline of the situation?”

Dr. Silence bowed his agreement. “I can then take my precautions
accordingly,” he added calmly. The soldier looked up for a moment as though he did not quite gather
the meaning of these words; but he made no further comment and turned
at once to tackle a subject on which he evidently talked with
diffidence and unwillingness. “It’s all so utterly out of my line of things,” he began, puffing out
clouds of cigar smoke between his words, “and there’s so little to tell
with any real evidence behind it, that it’s almost impossible to make a
consecutive story for you. It’s the total cumulative effect that is
so—so disquieting.” He chose his words with care, as though determined
not to travel one hair’s breadth beyond the truth. “I came into this place twenty years ago when my elder brother died,”
he continued, “but could not afford to live here then. My sister, whom
you met at dinner, kept house for him till the end, and during all
these years, while I was seeing service abroad, she had an eye to the
place—for we never got a satisfactory tenant—and saw that it was not
allowed to go to ruin. I myself took possession, however, only a year
ago. “My brother,” he went on, after a perceptible pause, “spent much of his
time away, too. He was a great traveller, and filled the house with
stuff he brought home from all over the world. The laundry—a small
detached building beyond the servants’ quarters—he turned into a
regular little museum. The curios and things I have cleared away—they
collected dust and were always getting broken—but the laundry-house you
shall see tomorrow.”

Colonel Wragge spoke with such deliberation and with so many pauses
that this beginning took him a long time. But at this point he came to
a full stop altogether. Evidently there was something he wished to say
that cost him considerable effort. At length he looked up steadily into
my companion’s face. “May I ask you—that is, if you won’t think it strange,” he said, and a
sort of hush came over his voice and manner, “whether you have noticed
anything at all unusual—anything queer, since you came into the house?”

Dr.