"It is extremely fortunate that my imagination is so carefully
trained," continued Harley; "otherwise, when the woman whose shadow I
saw upon the blind to-night raised her arms in a peculiar fashion, I
could not well have failed to attach undue importance to the shape of
the shadow thus created."

"What was the shape of the shadow, then?"

"Remarkably like that of a bat."

He spoke the words quietly, but in that still darkness, with dawn yet a
long way off, they possessed the power which belongs to certain chords
in music, and to certain lines in poetry. I was chilled unaccountably,
and I peopled the empty corridors of Cray's Folly with I know not what
uncanny creatures; nightmare fancies conjured up from memories of
haunted manors.

Such was my mood, then, when suddenly Paul Harley stood up. My eyes
were growing more and more used to the darkness, and from something
strained in his attitude I detected the fact that he was listening
intently.

He placed his cigarette on the table beside the bed and quietly crossed
the room. I knew from his silent tread that he wore shoes with rubber
soles. Very quietly he turned the handle and opened the door.

"What is it, Harley?" I whispered.

Dimly I saw him raise his hand. Inch by inch he opened the door. My
nerves in a state of tension, I sat there watching him, when without a