"You know, the whole thing is tremendous and extraordinary. I shall
never forget the look on Parsket's face. And afterward the disgusting
sounds of those great hoofs going away through the quiet house." Carnacki stood up. "Out you go!" he said in friendly fashion, using the recognized formula. And we went presently out into the quiet of the Embankment, and so to
our homes. No. 5--THE SEARCHER OF THE END HOUSE


It was still evening, as I remember, and the four of us, Jessop,
Arkright, Taylor and I, looked disappointedly at Carnacki, where he sat
silent in his great chair. We had come in response to the usual card of invitation, which--as you
know--we have come to consider as a sure prelude to a good story; and
now, after telling us the short incident of the Three Straw Platters, he
had lapsed into a contented silence, and the night not half gone, as I
have hinted. However, as it chanced, some pitying fate jogged Carnacki's elbow, or his
memory, and he began again, in his queer level way:--

"The 'Straw Platters' business reminds me of the 'Searcher' Case, which I
have sometimes thought might interest you. It was some time ago, in fact
a deuce of a long time ago, that the thing happened; and my experience of
what I might term 'curious' things was very small at that time. "I was living with my mother when it occurred, in a small house just
outside of Appledorn, on the South Coast. The house was the last of a
row of detached cottage villas, each house standing in its own garden;
and very dainty little places they were, very old, and most of them
smothered in roses; and all with those quaint old leaded windows, and
doors of genuine oak. You must try to picture them for the sake of their
complete niceness. "Now I must remind you at the beginning that my mother and I had lived in
that little house for two years; and in the whole of that time there had
not been a single peculiar happening to worry us. "And then, something happened. "It was about two o'clock one morning, as I was finishing some letters,
that I heard the door of my mother's bedroom open, and she came to the
top of the stairs, and knocked on the banisters. "'All right, dear,' I called; for I suppose she was merely reminding me
that I should have been in bed long ago; then I heard her go back to her
room, and I hurried my work, for fear she should lie awake, until she
heard me safe up to my room. "When I was finished, I lit my candle, put out the lamp, and went
upstairs. As I came opposite the door of my mother's room, I saw that it
was open, called good night to her, very softly, and asked whether I
should close the door. As there was no answer, I knew that she had
dropped off to sleep again, and I closed the door very gently, and turned
into my room, just across the passage. As I did so, I experienced a
momentary, half-aware sense of a faint, peculiar, disagreeable odor in
the passage; but it was not until the following night that I _realized_ I
had noticed a smell that offended me. You follow me? It is so often like
that--one suddenly knows a thing that really recorded itself on one's
consciousness, perhaps a year before. "The next morning at breakfast, I mentioned casually to my mother that
she had 'dropped off,' and I had shut the door for her. To my surprise,
she assured me she had never been out of her room. I reminded her about
the two raps she had given upon the banister; but she still was certain I
must be mistaken; and in the end I teased her, saying she had grown so
accustomed to my bad habit of sitting up late, that she had come to call
me in her sleep. Of course, she denied this, and I let the matter drop;
but I was more than a little puzzled, and did not know whether to believe
my own explanation, or to take the mater's, which was to put the noises
down to the mice, and the open door to the fact that she couldn't have
properly latched it, when she went to bed. I suppose, away in the
subconscious part of me, I had a stirring of less reasonable thoughts;
but certainly, I had no real uneasiness at that time. "The next night there came a further development. About two thirty a.m.,
I heard my mother's door open, just as on the previous night, and
immediately afterward she rapped sharply, on the banister, as it seemed
to me. I stopped my work and called up that I would not be long. As she
made no reply, and I did not hear her go back to bed, I had a quick sense
of wonder whether she might not be doing it in her sleep, after all, just
as I had said. "With the thought, I stood up, and taking the lamp from the table, began
to go toward the door, which was open into the passage. It was then I got
a sudden nasty sort of thrill; for it came to me, all at once, that my
mother never knocked, when I sat up too late; she always called. You will
understand I was not really frightened in any way; only vaguely uneasy,
and pretty sure she must really be doing the thing in her sleep. "I went quickly up the stairs, and when I came to the top, my mother was
not there; but her door was open. I had a bewildered sense though
believing she must have gone quietly back to bed, without my hearing
her. I entered her room and found her sleeping quietly and naturally; for
the vague sense of trouble in me was sufficiently strong to make me go
over to look at her. "When I was sure that she was perfectly right in every way, I was still
a little bothered; but much more inclined to think my suspicion correct
and that she had gone quietly back to bed in her sleep, without knowing
what she had been doing. This was the most reasonable thing to think, as
you must see. "And then it came to me, suddenly, that vague, queer, mildewy smell in
the room; and it was in that instant I became aware I had smelt the same
strange, uncertain smell the night before in the passage. "I was definitely uneasy now, and began to search my mother's room;
though with no aim or clear thought of anything, except to assure myself
that there was nothing in the room. All the time, you know, I never
_expected really_ to find anything; only my uneasiness had to be assured. "In the middle of my search my mother woke up, and of course I had to
explain. I told her about her door opening, and the knocks on the
banister, and that I had come up and found her asleep. I said nothing
about the smell, which was not very distinct; but told her that the thing
happening twice had made me a bit nervous, and possibly fanciful, and I
thought I would take a look 'round, just to feel satisfied. "I have thought since that the reason I made no mention of the smell, was
not only that I did not want to frighten my mother, for I was scarcely
that myself; but because I had only a vague half-knowledge that I
associated the smell with fancies too indefinite and peculiar to bear
talking about. You will understand that I am able _now_ to analyze and
put the thing into words; but _then_ I did not even know my chief reason
for saying nothing; let alone appreciate its possible significance.