It seemed to Lawford as if a remote tiny shout of laughter had
been suddenly caught back in the silence that had followed this
confession. He peered in vain in the direction of his companion.
Even his cigarette revealed no sign of him. 'I know, I know,' he
went gropingly on; 'I felt it would sound to you like nothing but
frantic incredible nonsense. YOU can't see it. YOU can't feel it.
YOU can't hear these hooting voices. It's no use at all blinking
the fact; I am simply on the verge, if not over it, of insanity.'

'As to that, Mr Lawford,' came the still voice out of the
darkness; 'the very fact of your being able to say so seems to
me all but proof positive that you're not. Insanity is on another
plane, isn't it? in which one can't compare one's states.
As for what you say being credible, take our precious noodle of a
spook here! Ninety-nine hundredths of this amiable world of ours
would have guffawed the poor creature into imperceptibility ages
ago. To such poor credulous creatures as my sister and I he is no
more and no less a fact, a personality, an amusing reality than--
well, this teacup. Here we are, amazing mysteries both of us in
any case; and all round us are scores of books, dealing just with
life, pure, candid, and unexpurgated; and there's not a single
one among them but reads like a taradiddle. Yet grope between the
lines of any autobiography, it's pretty clear what one has got--a
feeble, timid, creeping attempt to describe the indescribable. As
for what you say your case is, the bizarre--that kind very seldom
gets into print at all. In all our make-believe, all our pretence,
how, honestly, could it? But there, this is immaterial. The real
question is, may I, can I help? What I gather is this: You just
trundled down into Widderstone all among the dead men, and--but one