Sir Dominick pushed the cigar-box over to me, and we smoked for some
little time in silence. That huge bony hand of his was twitching as he
raised it with his cheroot to his lips, and I felt that the man’s nerves
were vibrating like fiddle-strings. My instincts told me that he was on
the verge of some intimate confidence, and I feared to speak lest I
should interrupt it. At last he turned towards me with a spasmodic
gesture like a man who throws his last scruple to the winds. “From the little that I have seen of you it appears to me, Dr.
Hardacre,” said he, “that you are the very man I have wanted to meet.”

“I am delighted to hear it, sir.”

“Your head seems to be cool and steady. You will acquit me of any desire
to flatter you, for the circumstances are too serious to permit of
insincerities. You have some special knowledge upon these subjects, and
you evidently view them from that philosophical standpoint which robs
them of all vulgar terror. I presume that the sight of an apparition
would not seriously discompose you?”

“I think not, sir.”

“Would even interest you, perhaps?”

“Most intensely.”

“As a psychical observer, you would probably investigate it in as
impersonal a fashion as an astronomer investigates a wandering comet?”

“Precisely.”

He gave a heavy sigh. “Believe me, Dr. Hardacre, there was a time when I could have spoken as
you do now. My nerve was a by-word in India. Even the Mutiny never shook
it for an instant. And yet you see what I am reduced to—the most
timorous man, perhaps, in all this county of Wiltshire. Do not speak too
bravely upon this subject, or you may find yourself subjected to as
long-drawn a test as I am—a test which can only end in the madhouse or
the grave.”

I waited patiently until he should see fit to go farther in his
confidence. His preamble had, I need not say, filled me with interest
and expectation. “For some years, Dr. Hardacre,” he continued, “my life and that of my
wife have been made miserable by a cause which is so grotesque that it
borders upon the ludicrous. And yet familiarity has never made it more
easy to bear—on the contrary, as time passes my nerves become more worn
and shattered by the constant attrition. If you have no physical fears,
Dr. Hardacre, I should very much value your opinion upon this phenomenon
which troubles us so.”

“For what it is worth my opinion is entirely at your service. May I ask
the nature of the phenomenon?”

“I think that your experiences will have a higher evidential value if
you are not told in advance what you may expect to encounter. You are
yourself aware of the quibbles of unconscious cerebration and subjective
impressions with which a scientific sceptic may throw a doubt upon your
statement. It would be as well to guard against them in advance.”

“What shall I do, then?”

“I will tell you. Would you mind following me this way?” He led me out
of the dining-room and down a long passage until we came to a terminal
door. Inside there was a large bare room fitted as a laboratory, with
numerous scientific instruments and bottles. A shelf ran along one side,
upon which there stood a long line of glass jars containing pathological
and anatomical specimens. “You see that I still dabble in some of my old studies,” said Sir
Dominick. “These jars are the remains of what was once a most excellent
collection, but unfortunately I lost the greater part of them when my
house was burned down in Bombay in ’92. It was a most unfortunate affair
for me—in more ways than one. I had examples of many rare conditions,
and my splenic collection was probably unique. These are the survivors.”

I glanced over them, and saw that they really were of a very great value
and rarity from a pathological point of view: bloated organs, gaping
cysts, distorted bones, odious parasites—a singular exhibition of the
products of India. “There is, as you see, a small settee here,” said my host. “It was far
from our intention to offer a guest so meagre an accommodation, but
since affairs have taken this turn, it would be a great kindness upon
your part if you would consent to spend the night in this apartment. I
beg that you will not hesitate to let me know if the idea should be at
all repugnant to you.”

“On the contrary,” I said, “it is most acceptable.”

“My own room is the second on the left, so that if you should feel that
you are in need of company a call would always bring me to your side.”

“I trust that I shall not be compelled to disturb you.”

“It is unlikely that I shall be asleep. I do not sleep much. Do not
hesitate to summon me.”

And so with this agreement we joined Lady Holden in the drawing-room and
talked of lighter things. It was no affectation upon my part to say that the prospect of my
night’s adventure was an agreeable one. I have no pretence to greater
physical courage than my neighbours, but familiarity with a subject robs
it of those vague and undefined terrors which are the most appalling to
the imaginative mind. The human brain is capable of only one strong
emotion at a time, and if it be filled with curiosity or scientific
enthusiasm, there is no room for fear. It is true that I had my uncle’s
assurance that he had himself originally taken this point of view, but I
reflected that the breakdown of his nervous system might be due to his
forty years in India as much as to any psychical experiences which had
befallen him. I at least was sound in nerve and brain, and it was with
something of the pleasurable thrill of anticipation with which the
sportsman takes his position beside the haunt of his game that I shut
the laboratory door behind me, and partially undressing, lay down upon
the rug-covered settee. It was not an ideal atmosphere for a bedroom. The air was heavy with
many chemical odours, that of methylated spirit predominating. Nor were
the decorations of my chamber very sedative. The odious line of glass
jars with their relics of disease and suffering stretched in front of my
very eyes. There was no blind to the window, and a three-quarter moon
streamed its white light into the room, tracing a silver square with
filigree lattices upon the opposite wall. When I had extinguished my
candle this one bright patch in the midst of the general gloom had
certainly an eerie and discomposing aspect. A rigid and absolute silence
reigned throughout the old house, so that the low swish of the branches
in the garden came softly and soothingly to my ears. It may have been
the hypnotic lullaby of this gentle susurrus, or it may have been the
result of my tiring day, but after many dozings and many efforts to
regain my clearness of perception, I fell at last into a deep and
dreamless sleep. I was awakened by some sound in the room, and I instantly raised myself
upon my elbow on the couch. Some hours had passed, for the square patch
upon the wall had slid downwards and sideways until it lay obliquely at
the end of my bed. The rest of the room was in deep shadow.