faint prolonged sound like the wailing of a strange sea-creature was
heard from within the house. McCurdie turned round, his teeth
chattering.

"Did ye hear that, Doyne?"


[Illustration: I TOLD YOU THE PLACE WAS UNCANNY.]


"Perhaps it's a dog," said the Professor.

Lord Doyne, the man of action, pushed them aside and tried the
door-handle. It yielded, the door stood open, and the gust of cold wind
entering the house extinguished the candle within. They entered and
found themselves in a miserable stone-paved kitchen, furnished with
poverty-stricken meagreness--a wooden chair or two, a dirty table, some
broken crockery, old cooking utensils, a fly-blown missionary society
almanac, and a fireless grate. Doyne set the lamp on the table.

"We must bring him in," said he.

They returned to the threshold, and as they were bending over to grip
the dead man the same sound filled the air, but this time louder, more
intense, a cry of great agony. The sweat dripped from McCurdie's
forehead. They lifted the dead man and brought him into the room, and
after laying him on a dirty strip of carpet they did their best to
straighten the stiff limbs. Biggleswade put on the table a bundle which
he had picked up outside. It contained some poor provisions--a loaf, a
piece of fat bacon, and a paper of tea. As far as they could guess (and