While we were discoursing upon these subjects, I became more and more
distinctly conscious of a new class of sounds proceeding from the same
closet. I plainly heard a measured and heavy tread, accompanied by the
tapping of some hard and heavy substance like the end of a staff, pass up
and down the floor--first, as it seemed, stealthily, and then more and
more unconcealedly. I began to feel very uncomfortable and suspicious. As
the noise proceeded, and became more and more unequivocal, Mr. Smith
abruptly rose, opened the closet door, just enough to admit his own
lath-like person, and steal within the threshold for some seconds. What
he did I could not see--I felt conscious he had an associate concealed
there; and though my eyes remained fixed on the book, I could not avoid
listening for some audible words, or signal of caution. I heard, however,
nothing of the kind. Mr. Smith turned back--walked a step or two towards
me, and said--

"I fancied I heard a sound from that closet, but there is
nothing--nothing--nothing whatever; bring the candle, let us both look."

I obeyed with some little trepidation, for I fully anticipated that I
should detect the intruder, of whose presence my own ears had given me,
for nearly half an hour, the most unequivocal proofs. We entered the
closet together; it contained but a few chairs and a small spider table.
At the far end of the room there was a sort of grey woollen cloth upon
the floor, and a bundle of something underneath it. I looked jealously at
it, and half thought I could trace the outline of a human figure; but, if
so, it was perfectly motionless.

"Some of my poor wardrobe," he muttered, as he pointed his lean finger in
the direction. "It did not sound like a cat, did it--hey--did it?" he
muttered; and without attending to my answer, he went about the