the idea growing upon him that his alarm had all been vain, and
that Stratton must have gone straight out the moment he had turned down
the lamp--either in his absent state forgetting his presence, or
imagining that he had gone on out--Guest felt now a strange kind of
irritability against himself, and, with the dread completely gone, he
began to move cautiously, and pausing step by step, till his
outstretched hands came in contact with a bronze ornament, which fell
into the fender with a loud clang.

Guest started round once more, knowing exactly where he stood, and
facing Stratton, who seemed to have sprung out of his seat.

"Who's there?" he cried fiercely.

"Who's there?" retorted Guest. "Why, what's come to you, man? Where
are your lights? Bah!" he added to himself, "have I lost my head, too?"

As he spoke he drew a little silver case from his vest pocket, and
struck a wax match, whose bright light showed his friend sunk back in
the chair by the writing table, gazing wildly in his face.

A glance showed Guest a candle in a little holder on the mantelpiece,
and applying the match, in another moment the black horror had given
place to his friend's room, with Stratton looking utterly prostrate, and
unworthy of a moment's dread.

Guest's words partook of his feeling of annoyance with himself at having
given his imagination so much play.

"Here, what's come to you, man?" he cried, seizing Stratton roughly by
the shoulder.

"Come to me? I--I--don't know."

"Have you been sitting there ever since you put out the light?"

"Yes--I think so."

"But you heard me speak to you?"

"No; I think not. What did you say?"

"He's trembling like a leaf," thought Guest. "Worse than I was."

Then aloud:

"I say, you had better have a glass of grog, and then go to bed. I'll
stop with you if you like."

"Here? No, no; come along. It must be getting late."

He made for the door and opened it, signed to Guest to come, and stood
waiting.

"All right; but don't leave that candle burning, man. You seem
determined to burn down this place."

Stratton uttered a curious little laugh, and hastily crossed the room to
the mantelpiece, while Guest stood holding the door open, so as to admit
a little light.

The next minute they were on the landing, and Stratton, with trembling
fingers, carefully locked the door.

"Now," said Guest, "about poor old Brettison? What do you say? Shall
we give notice to the police?"