She is under the impression that we are interested in
the same line of study--folklore--and that your researches have led to
my seeking acquaintance. She comes to dinner in her chair, you know. It
will be a great pleasure to her to meet you both. We have few visitors.”

So that on entering the dining-room we were prepared to find Miss
Wragge already at her place, seated in a sort of bath-chair. She was
a vivacious and charming old lady, with smiling expression and bright
eyes, and she chatted all through dinner with unfailing spontaneity. She had that face, unlined and fresh, that some people carry through
life from the cradle to the grave; her smooth plump cheeks were
all pink and white, and her hair, still dark, was divided into two
glossy and sleek halves on either side of a careful parting. She wore
gold-rimmed glasses, and at her throat was a large scarab of green
jasper that made a very handsome brooch. Her brother and Dr. Silence talked little, so that most of the
conversation was carried on between herself and me, and she told me a
great deal about the history of the old house, most of which I fear I
listened to with but half an ear. “And when Cromwell stayed here,” she babbled on, “he occupied the very
rooms upstairs that used to be mine. But my brother thinks it safer for
me to sleep on the ground floor now in case of fire.”

And this sentence has stayed in my memory only because of the sudden
way her brother interrupted her and instantly led the conversation
on to another topic. The passing reference to fire seemed to have
disturbed him, and thenceforward he directed the talk himself. 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.