After tea, when fading twilight had deepened the shadows in the house,
we went up the stairway, past the landing with its window containing the
armorial bearings of the family in stained glass, and, achieving the
upper hall, crossed to a great bedchamber, the principal guest room, and
paused just inside the door.

And now, because of what I am about to relate, I shall give the names of
those who were present. We were: Dr. Murray P. Brush, A.B., Ph.D.,
acting Dean of Johns Hopkins University; Dr. John McF. Bergland of
Baltimore; my companion, Wallace Morgan, illustrator; and myself.

The light had, by this time, melted to a mere faint grayness sifting
like mist through the many oblong panes of several large windows.
Nevertheless I could discern that it was a spacious room, and from the
color of it and certain shadowy lines upon the walls, I judged that it
was paneled to the ceiling in white-painted wood. I am under the
impression that it contained a fireplace, and that the great four-post
bed, standing to the right of the doorway, was placed upon a low
platform, a step or two above the floor--though of this I am not quite
certain, the bulk of the bed and the dim light having, perhaps, deceived
me. The rest of the furniture in the room was dark in color, and massed
in heavy vague spots against the lighter background of the walls.

Directly before the door, at about the center of the wall against which
it was backed, stood something which loomed tall and dark, and which I
took to be either a gigantic clothespress or a closet built into the
room. Looking past the front of this obstruction, I saw one of the
windows; the piece of furniture was therefore exhibited sidewise, in
silhouette.