urroundings. The paper of the _sho[u]ji_ was torn and eaten
by the rats. In places the frayed _tatami_ (mats) bent under his feet,
evidence of decay of the supporting floor. There was the mouldy damp
smell common to places long closed to the freedom of the outer air. It
sent a chill to the bone; which Endo[u] noted with surprise as he turned
to the dark inner rooms. He must have some kind of light. Almost the
first step into the semi-obscurity offered the means to hand. Stumbling
over an object at his feet he picked up a staff. On examination it
proved to be one of those _kongo_ canes, the support to feet and belly
of the devout in their long pilgrimages, sign manual of the pious intent
of the bearer. He had taken a candle from his pocket, and, with small
respect to the "six worlds" of its rings, used the spiked end to
improvise a torch. Then an unexpected voice caught his ear; a sad,
wailing cry which chilled the heart. Then followed low, rapid,
disorderly speech, the meaning of which rendered indistinct by distance
could not be made out. Then came the unearthly startling shriek which
rang through the whole mansion.

Endo[u] Saburo[u]zaemon now had his torch fastened and blazing. Loosing
his sword in the scabbard promptly he set forth into the darkness
beyond. The candle cast a feeble light, making the darkness still more
apparent. However, he could see the splendour of these once inhabited
rooms. Screens worked in silk were dirty and frayed, but they were by
master hands, and still showed the outlines of beautiful designing. The
_rama-sho[u]ji_--the fret work between the rooms--was broken in places,
yet it displayed the erratic course of Nature's handiwork, the most
bizarre and effective of all. And always just before him went the
shuffling drag of sandals--as of some one on the _ro[u]ka_, further on,
at the room beyond. He sprang forward in haste, to fling back the closed
screens, but still the object eluded him; always there, yet never seen.
Thus it led him from room to room--reception rooms, sitting rooms, the
women's apartments; all gorgeous, all unfurnished, not a single object
of the value to tempt stray visitor or intentional thief. Even the
kitchen was stripped bare of equipment. Not even the stones to support
the furnace had been left. Thieves, or others, had long since accounted
for all movables.

Dumbfounded Saburo[u]zaemon stood at the foot of the stairway. Patter,
patter the footsteps had led him to this