fancied the rest. And yet, I was not so sure.

"I was asleep, the first time," he said. "I don't know how long
ago it was. I woke up cold, with the feeling that something was
looking at me. I raised up in bed, and there was a thing at the
window. It was looking in."

"What sort of a thing?"

"What I told you--white."

"A white head?"

"It wasn't a head. For God's sake, Leslie! I can't tell you any
more than that. I saw it. That's enough. I saw it three times."

"It isn't enough for me," I said doggedly. "It hadn't any head or
face, but it looked in! It's dark out there. How could you see?"

For reply, he leaned over and, turning down the lamp, blew it out.
We sat in the smoking darkness, and slowly, out of the thick night,
the window outlined itself. I could see it distinctly. But how,
white and faceless, had it stared in at the window, or reached
through the bars, as Singleton declared it had done, and waved a
fingerless hand at us?

He was in a state of mental and physical collapse, and begged so
pitifully not to be left, that at last I told him I would take him
with me, on his promise to remain in a chair until dawn, and to go
back without demur. He sat near me, amidships, huddled down among