"I've got the rest of it out of her a bit here and a bit there, and I'll piece it together for you in the telling. She had her dinner at eight o'clock, and at ten o'clock she went to bed. I had a latchkey, of course, so she locked the front door, but left the light on in the hall. Then she went upstairs, and of one thing she is very positive: there was no repetition of the strange feeling she had experienced the night before.
"The fire was burning brightly in her bedroom, and after she had read for a bit she began to feel sleepy. So she switched off the light, having first glanced at the time to see how much longer I should be. It was eleven o'clock, and twelve-fifteen was the earliest at which I could be back. Then she dozed off.
"She seemed, she told me, hardly to have been asleep at all when she found herself wide awake again. Something had disturbed her, but she doesn't know what. And the time was a quarter to twelve. The fire had died down a bit and was throwing that flickerings jumping light about the room which makes it difficult to see clearly.
"She lay there in bed motionless and rigid, conscious only of one thing—that something was going to happen. And then she heard an unmistakable creak on the stairs, followed by a strange muttering noise. Again the stairs creaked and yet again, and she realised that someone was coming up.
"She knew it couldn't be me: she knew Mrs. Gulliver had gone to bed hours ago. Who was it—what was it—that was coming up the stairs? Well, it's easy to sit here in a well-lit smoking-room and ask why she didn't get out and lock the door. I asked her the same thing myself. The kid was just too pulverised with terror to move, gentlemen: she lay there in bed listening to those footsteps coming closer and her legs simply refused to act.
"And at last the footsteps ceased outside her door. Clear as anything she could hear the thing—whatever it was—muttering and chuckling to itself, and she just lay there rigid and sick with fear, staring at the door—waiting. After a moment or two the handle was cautiously turned and the door commenced to open. Inch by inch it was pushed back, but since it didn't open on to the bed she couldn't see who was on the other side. And then quite suddenly there came a hoarse chuckle.
"She almost screamed; may Heaven be praised that it was only almost! For the next instant a man came into the room, carrying a bundle in his hands. He walked slowly past the bed and sat down in a chair by the fire with his back to my wife. And she realised he hadn't seen her. He was muttering to himself and laughing, and after a while he deposited the bundle on the hearth-rug at his feet. It was about the size of a football, and it was wrapped up in what looked like a towel. And there he remained for three or four minutes whilst my wife, not daring to move, watched him from the bed. She tried to make out what he was saying to himself, but the few words she caught were just meaningless gibberish.
"At last a thought struck her. By the side of the bed was a push which rang a bell just outside Mrs. Gulliver's room. She glanced at the clock; it was still twenty minutes before I could hope to be back. And she felt that she would go mad if she had to endure this any longer. So with infinite care she stretched out her arm and rang the bell. She knew she couldn't hear it—it was too far away; but she also knew that it had been working that evening. So she waited—but nothing happened. She rang again and again—still nothing. And all the time the man sat there muttering and chuckling away to himself, whilst every now and then he lifted the bundle in his hands and held it in front of him.
"Another five minutes passed, and then the strain became too great. She must have given a little cry or made some sound, for the man swung round suddenly and stared at her. He stared at her in absolute silence; then he placed his bundle carefully on the floor and stood up. And I suppose utter despair and terror gave her the strength to move. For even as the man took a step towards her she flung the bedclothes off and darted through the door, banging it behind her. Then she fled downstairs and into the drawing-room. Behind her pounded the man, and by a second only did she get the door locked. There were French windows leading into the garden, and anything—anything to escape from the house."
The fair-haired man mopped his forehead, and his hand was shaking uncontrollably. "You've seen the fantastic shadows cast by moonlight, haven't you? Well, there was a moon that night, shining fitfully through the clouds—and on the windows through which she meant to escape two great shadows were dancing. There were men there—more men, and, clear above the mad pounding on the door behind her, she could hear them trying to force the window. And at that moment she gave up hope. The door was creaking on its hinges; she could hear the man on the other side hurling himself against it. And the crash of broken glass and the splintering of the door came simultaneously. She had a fleeting vision of the man who had been in her bedroom rushing in with something in his hand that gleamed, just as the other two men dashed aside the curtains and sprang into the room also. And the two of them hurled themselves at him savagely. One took him round the legs and brought him crashing to the floor; the other hit him a fearful blow behind the head with a loaded stick. And the man who had been upstairs lay still.
"'Good God, man!' said one of the newcomers, 'that was touch and go.'
"'Who is he?' said my wife faintly. 'He's been in my bedroom for twenty minutes.'
"The two men looked at one another significantly.
"'Are you all alone in the house, mum?' said the other.
"'My husband ought to be back at any moment.' she answered.
"'Well, I guess we'll stop with you anyway till he comes. Because we'll have to get a conveyance of some sort to take this bloke away in.'
"And it was just about then that I walked in.
"'A marvellous escape, sir,' said one of them to me when I'd heard briefly what had happened. 'He's a homicidal maniac, and he gave us the slip this evening.'
"'You followed him here, I suppose?'
"'Not exactly, sir. We guessed he'd come here. You see, he's the man that did the murder in this house three years ago. And if we hadn't come in time there would have been another done tonight."
The fair-haired man paused, and for a while no one spoke.
"What a ghastly experience!" said Sturgis. "I don't wonder your wife's hair turned white."
The other smiled grimly. "It wasn't that that did it. I was talking to the two warders below, when I heard scream after scream from my wife's bedroom. You see, the warders hadn't come in time to prevent a murder. For when I got to her, I found her staring at something that lay on the hearth-rug—something from which the coverings had slipped— something about the size of a football. Mrs. Thurston had been right as to how the original murder had been committed. He'd cut off his victim's head. And the only thing that had saved my wife was that the maniac had been to Mrs. Gulliver's room first. That was why the bell had not been answered."
"Great Scott!" muttered Cartwright. "Great Scott!"
"The psychology of the thing, gentlemen, is beyond me. The foolish talk about the house being haunted in the accepted sense of the word may be dismissed. But I do believe firmly that in some way or other beyond our ken the poor demented mind of that madman was able to project itself through space and make itself felt by certain personalities at its destination. How else can you account for the unfortunate housekeeper's feeling of impending evil—for my wife's sudden vivid li impression as she went up the stairs? They told me that sometimes he used to lie in a sort of coma for hours at a time. Was it then that his tortured spirit fled from his body, going always to the spot which drew it like a magnet? I know not. But thing I do know. If any of you require a nice unfurnished house in the Sunningdale district—"
"Holy smoke!" said Sturgis. "I'd sooner have my monastery in Tibet."
IX.