igh
wooden gate, which opened into a gloomy avenue of chestnuts. The curved
and shadowed drive led us to a low, dark house, pitch-black against a
slate-coloured sky. From the front window upon the left of the door
there peeped a glimmer of a feeble light.

"There's a constable in possession," said Baynes. "I'll knock at the
window." He stepped across the grass plot and tapped with his hand on
the pane. Through the fogged glass I dimly saw a man spring up from a
chair beside the fire, and heard a sharp cry from within the room. An
instant later a white-faced, hard-breathing policeman had opened the
door, the candle wavering in his trembling hand.

"What's the matter, Walters?" asked Baynes sharply.

The man mopped his forehead with his handkerchief and agave a long sigh
of relief.

"I am glad you have come, sir. It has been a long evening, and I don't
think my nerve is as good as it was."

"Your nerve, Walters? I should not have thought you had a nerve in
your body."

"Well, sir, it's this lonely, silent house and the queer thing in the
kitchen. Then when you tapped at the window I thought it had come
again."

"That what had come again?"

"The devil, sir, for all I know. It was at the window."

"What was at the window, and when?"

"It was just about two hours ago. The light was just fading. I was
sitting reading in the chair. I don't know what made me look up, but
there was a face looking in at me through the lower pane. Lord, sir,
what a face it was! I'll see it in my dreams."

"Tut, tut, Walters. This is not talk for a police-constable."

"I know, sir, I know; but it shook me, sir, and there's no use to deny
it. It wasn't black, sir, nor was it white, nor any colour that I know
but a kind of queer shade like clay with a splash of milk in it. Then
there was the size of it--it was twice yours, sir. And the look of
it--the great staring goggle eyes, and the line of white teeth like a
hungry beast. I tell you, sir, I couldn't move a finger, nor get my
breath, till it whisked away and was gone. Out I ran and through the
shrubbery, but thank God there was no one there."

"If I didn't know you were a good man, Walters, I should put a black
mark against you for this. If it were the devil himself a constable on
duty should never thank God that he could not lay his hands upon him.
I suppose the whole thing is not a vision and a touch of nerves?"

"That, at least, is very easily settled," said