"You believe me, don't you, Hobart? It is good. I had hoped to
find someone, and I found you two. Harry, remember what I have
told you. Hold the ring. You take my place. Whatever happens,
stick out to the end. You have Hobart here to help you. Now just a
minute. The library is here; you can look over my books. I shall
return in a moment."

He stepped out into the hall; we could hear his weary feet
dragging down the hallway--a hollow sound and a bit uncanny.
Somehow my mind rambled back to that account I had read in the
newspaper--Jerome's story--"Like weary bones dragging slippers."
And the old lady. Who was she? Why was everyone in this house
pulled down to exhaustion--the words of the old lady, I could
almost hear them; the dank air murmuring their recollection. "Now
there are two. Now there are two!"

"What's the matter, Harry?"

Perhaps I was frightened. I do not know. I looked around. The
sound of Watson's footsteps had died away; there was a light in
the back of the building coming toward us.

"Nothing! Only--damn this place, Hobart. Don't you notice it? It's
enough to eat your heart out."

"Rather interesting," said Hobart. It was too interesting for me.
I stepped over to the shelves and looked at the titles. Sanskrit
and Greek; German and French--the Vedas, Sir Oliver Lodge, Besant,
Spinoza, a conglomeration of all ages and tongues; a range of
metaphysics that was as wide as Babel, and about as enlightening.