LITMIR.BIZ

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muttered Stuart.

      He became aware that the fear which held him was such that unless he

      acted and acted swiftly he should become incapable of action, but he

      remembered that whereas the moonlight poured into the bedroom, the

      staircase would be in complete darkness. He walked barefooted across

      to the dressing-table and took up an electric torch which lay there.

      He had not used it for some time, and he pressed the button to learn

      if the torch was charged. A beam of white light shone out across the

      room, and at the same instant came another sound.

      If it came from below or above, from the adjoining room or from

      Outside in the road, Stuart knew not. But following hard upon the

      mysterious disturbance which had aroused him it seemed to pour ice

      into his veins, it added the complementary touch to his panic. For

      it was a kind of low wail--a ghostly minor wail in falling

      cadences--unlike any sound he had heard. It was so excessively

      horrible that it produced a curious effect.

      Discovering from the dancing of the torch-ray that his hand was

      trembling, Stuart concluded that he had awakened from a nightmare

      and that this fiendish wailing was no more than an unusually delayed

      aftermath of the imaginary horrors which had bathed him in cold

      perspiration.

      He walked resolutely to the door, threw it open and cast the beam of

      light on to the staircase. Softly he began to descend. Before the

      study door he paused. There was no sound. He threw open the door,

      directing the torch-ray into the room.

      Cutting a white lane through the blackness, it shone fully upon his

      writing-table, which was a rather fine Jacobean piece having a sort

      of quaint bureau superstructure containing cabinets and drawers. He

      could detect nothing unusual in the appearance of the littered table.

      A tobacco jar stood there, a pipe resting in the lid. Papers and

      books were scattered untidily as he had left them, surrounding a tray

      full of pipe and cigarette ash. Then, suddenly, he saw something else.

      One of the bureau drawers was half opened.

      Stuart stood quite still, staring at the table. There was no sound in

      the room. He crossed slowly, moving the light from right to left. His

      papers had been overhauled methodically. The drawers had been

      replaced, but he felt assured that all had been examined. The light

      switch was immediately beside the outer door, and Stuart walked

      over to it and switched on both lamps. Turning, he surveyed the

      brilliantly illuminated room. Save for himself, it was empty. He

      looked out into the hallway again. There was no one there. No sound

      broke the stillness. But that consciousness of some near presence

      asserted itself persistently and uncannily.

      "My nerves are out of order!" he muttered. "No one has touched my

      papers. I must have left the drawer open myself."

      He switched off the light and walked across to the door. He had

      actually passed out intending to return to his room, when he became

      aware of a slight draught. He stopped.

      Someone or something, evil and watchful, seemed to be very near again.

      Stuart turned and found himself gazing fearfully in the direction of

      the open study door. He became persuaded anew that someone was hiding

      there, and snatching up an ash stick which lay upon a chair in the

      hall he returned to the door. One step into the room he took and

      paused--palsied with a sudden fear which exceeded anything he had

      known.

      A white casement curtain was drawn across the French windows ... and

      outlined upon this moon-bright screen he saw a tall figure. It was

      that of a _cowled man_!

      Such an apparition would have been sufficiently alarming had the cowl

      been that of a monk, but the outline of this phantom being suggested

      that of one of the Misericordia brethren or the costume worn of old

      by the familiars of the Inquisition!

      His heart leapt wildly, and seemed to grow still. He sought to cry out

      in his terror, but only emitted a dry gasping sound.

      The psychology of panic is obscure and has been but imperfectly

      explored. The presence of the terrible cowled figure afforded a

      confirmation of Stuart's theory that he was the victim of a species

      of waking nightmare.

      Even as he looked, the shadow of the cowled man moved--and was gone.

      Stuart ran across the room, jerked open the curtains and stared out

      across the moon-bathed lawn, its prospect terminated by high privet

      hedges. One of the French windows was wide open. There was no one on

      the lawn; there was no sound.

      "Mrs. M'Gregor swears that I always forget to shut these windows at

      night!" he muttered.

      He closed and bolted the window, stood for a moment looking out across

      the empty lawn, then turned and went out of the room.

      THE PIBROCH OF THE M'GREGORS

      Dr. Stuart awoke in the morning and tried to recall what had occurred

      during the night. He consulted his watch and found the hour to be six

      a. m. No one was stirring in the house, and he rose and put on a

      bath robe. He felt perfectly well and could detect no symptoms of

      nervous disorder. Bright sunlight was streaming into the room, and

      he went out on to the landing, fastening the cord of his gown as he

      descended the stairs.

      His study door was locked, with the key outside. He remembered having

      locked it. Opening it, he entered and looked about him. He was

      vaguely disappointed. Save for the untidy litter of papers upon the

      table, the study was as he had left it on retiring. If he could

      believe the evidence of his senses, nothing had been disturbed.

      Not content with a casual inspection, he particularly examined those

      papers which,

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