ere
wasn't no other way; but as God is my judge, the knot in the rope and
the dust on the beam ain't been disturbed for years.'"

At this dramatic climax there was an audible sigh from my audience. I
sat quietly for a time, content to allow the silence and the atmosphere
of the place, which actually seemed surcharged with influences not of my
creation, to add to the effect my story had caused. There was scarcely a
movement in our circle; of that I felt sure. And yet once more, out of
the almost tangible darkness above me, something seemed to reach down
and brush against my head. A slight motion of air, sufficient to disturb
my rather scanty locks, was additional proof that I was the butt of some
prank that had just missed its objective. Then, with a fearful
suddenness, close to my ear burst a shrill discord of laughter, so
uncanny and so unlike the usual sound of student merriment that I
started up, half wondering if I had heard it. Almost immediately after
it the heavy darkness was torn again by a shriek so terrible in its
intensity as completely to differentiate it from the other cries which
followed.

"Bring a light!" cried a voice that I recognized as that of my wife,
though strangely distorted by emotion. There was a great confusion.
Young women struggled from their places and impeded one another in the
darkness; but finally, and it seemed an unbearable delay, someone
brought a single lantern.

Its frail light revealed Miss Anstell half upright from her place in the
center of our circle, my wife's arms sustaining her weight. Her face, as
well as I could see it, seemed darkened and distorted, and when we
forced her clutching hands away from her bared throat we could see, even
in that light, the marks of an angry, throttling scar entirely
encircling it. Just above her head the old pulley-rope swayed menacingly
in the faint breeze.

My recollection is even now confused as to the following moments and our
stumbling escape from that gruesome spot. Miss Anstell is now at her
home, recovering from what her physician calls mental shock. My wife
will not speak of it. The questions I would ask her are checked on my
lips by the look of utter terror in her eyes. As I have confessed to
you, my own philosophy is hard put to it to withstand not so much the
community attitude toward what they are pleased to call my taste in
practical joking, but to assemble and adjust the facts of my
experience.

A SHADY PLOT

BY EL