Seen through the
distorting vapours of the earth’s atmosphere, her face looked weirdly
unfamiliar, her usual expression of benignant vacancy somehow a-twist. I slipped along by the shadows of the wall, keeping my eyes upon the
ground. The laundry-house, as already described, stood detached from the other
offices, with laurel shrubberies crowding thickly behind it, and the
kitchen-garden so close on the other side that the strong smells of
soil and growing things came across almost heavily. The shadows of the
haunted plantation, hugely lengthened by the rising moon behind them,
reached to the very walls and covered the stone tiles of the roof with
a dark pall. So keenly were my senses alert at this moment that I
believe I could fill a chapter with the endless small details of the
impression I received—shadows, odour, shapes, sounds—in the space of
the few seconds I stood and waited before the closed wooden door. Then I became aware of some one moving towards me through the
moonlight, and the figure of John Silence, without overcoat and
bareheaded, came quickly and without noise to join me. His eyes, I saw
at once, were wonderfully bright, and so marked was the shining pallor
of his face that I could hardly tell when he passed from the moonlight
into the shade. He passed without a word, beckoning me to follow, and then pushed the
door open, and went in. The chill air of the place met us like that of an underground vault;
and the brick floor and whitewashed walls, streaked with damp and
smoke, threw back the cold in our faces. Directly opposite gaped the
black throat of the huge open fireplace, the ashes of wood fires still
piled and scattered about the hearth, and on either side of the
projecting chimney-column were the deep recesses holding the big twin
cauldrons for boiling clothes. Upon the lids of these cauldrons stood
the two little oil lamps, shaded red, which gave all the light there
was, and immediately in front of the fireplace there was a small
circular table with three chairs set about it. Overhead, the narrow
slit windows, high up the walls, pointed to a dim network of wooden
rafters half lost among the shadows, and then came the dark vault of
the roof. Cheerless and unalluring, for all the red light, it certainly
was, reminding me of some unused conventicle, bare of pews or pulpit,
ugly and severe, and I was forcibly struck by the contrast between the
normal uses to which the place was ordinarily put, and the strange and
medieval purpose which had brought us under its roof tonight. Possibly an involuntary shudder ran over me, for my companion turned
with a confident look to reassure me, and he was so completely master
of himself that I at once absorbed from his abundance, and felt the
chinks of my failing courage beginning to close up. To meet his eye in
the presence of danger was like finding a mental railing that guided
and supported thought along the giddy edges of alarm. “I am quite ready,” I whispered, turning to listen for approaching
footsteps. He nodded, still keeping his eyes on mine. Our whispers sounded hollow
as they echoed overhead among the rafters. “I’m glad you are here,” he said. “Not all would have the courage. Keep
your thoughts controlled, and imagine the protective shell round
you—round your inner being.”

“I’m all right,” I repeated, cursing my chattering teeth. He took my hand and shook it, and the contact seemed to shake into me
something of his supreme confidence. The eyes and hands of a strong man
can touch the soul. I think he guessed my thought, for a passing smile
flashed about the corners of his mouth. “You will feel more comfortable,” he said, in a low tone, “when the
chain is complete. The Colonel we can count on, of course. Remember,
though,” he added warningly, “he may perhaps become
controlled—possessed—when the thing comes, because he won’t know how to
resist. And to explain the business to such a man—!” He shrugged his
shoulders expressively. “But it will only be temporary, and I will see
that no harm comes to him.”

He glanced round at the arrangements with approval. “Red light,” he said, indicating the shaded lamps, “has the lowest rate
of vibration. Materialisations are dissipated by strong light—won’t
form, or hold together—in rapid vibrations.”

I was not sure that I approved altogether of this dim light, for in
complete darkness there is something protective—the knowledge that one
cannot be seen, probably—which a half-light destroys, but I remembered
the warning to keep my thoughts steady, and forbore to give them
expression. There was a step outside, and the figure of Colonel Wragge stood in the
doorway. Though entering on tiptoe, he made considerable noise and
clatter, for his free movements were impeded by the burden he carried,
and we saw a large yellowish bowl held out at arms’ length from his
body, the mouth covered with a white cloth. His face, I noted, was
rigidly composed. He, too, was master of himself. And, as I thought of
this old soldier moving through the long series of alarms, worn with
watching and wearied with assault, unenlightened yet undismayed, even
down to the dreadful shock of his sister’s terror, and still showing
the dogged pluck that persists in the face of defeat, I understood what
Dr. Silence meant when he described him as a man “to be counted on.”

I think there was nothing beyond this rigidity of his stern features,
and a certain greyness of the complexion, to betray the turmoil of the
emotions that were doubtless going on within; and the quality of these
two men, each in his own way, so keyed me up that, by the time the door
was shut and we had exchanged silent greetings, all the latent courage
I possessed was well to the fore, and I felt as sure of myself as I
knew I ever could feel. Colonel Wragge set the bowl carefully in the centre of the table. “Midnight,” he said shortly, glancing at his watch, and we all three
moved to our chairs. There, in the middle of that cold and silent place, we sat, with the
vile bowl before us, and a thin, hardly perceptible steam rising
through the damp air from the surface of the white cloth and
disappearing upwards the moment it passed beyond the zone of red light
and entered the deep shadows thrown forward by the projecting wall of
chimney. The doctor had indicated our respective places, and I found myself
seated with my back to the door and opposite the black hearth. The
Colonel was on my left, and Dr. Silence on my right, both half facing
me, the latter more in shadow than the former. We thus divided the
little table into even sections, and sitting back in our chairs we
awaited events in silence. For something like an hour I do not think there was even the faintest
sound within those four walls and under the canopy of that vaulted
roof. Our slippers made no scratching on the gritty floor, and our
breathing was suppressed almost to nothing; even the rustle of our
clothes as we shifted from time to time upon our seats was inaudible.