p. Someone must be in the
gallery, for a second blind did the same. Someone must be walking round
the gallery, for one after the other the blinds sprang up, letting in
the moonlight.

"I haven't got to the bottom of this yet," said Eustace, "but I will do
before the night is very much older," and he hurried up the corkscrew
stair. He had just got to the top when the lights went out a second
time, and he heard again the scuttling along the floor. Quickly he stole
on tiptoe in the dim moonshine in the direction of the noise, feeling as
he went for one of the switches. His fingers touched the metal knob at
last. He turned on the electric light.

About ten yards in front of him, crawling along the floor, was a man's
hand. Eustace stared at it in utter astonishment. It was moving quickly,
in the manner of a geometer caterpillar, the fingers humped up one
moment, flattened out the next; the thumb appeared to give a crab-like
motion to the whole. While he was looking, too surprised to stir, the
hand disappeared round the corner Eustace ran forward. He no longer saw
it, but he could hear it as it squeezed its way behind the books on one
of the shelves. A heavy volume had been displaced. There was a gap in
the row of books where it had got in. In his fear lest it should escape
him again, he seized the first book that came to his hand and plugged it
into the hole. Then, emptying two shelves of their contents, he took the
wooden boards and propped them up in front to make his barrier doubly
sure.

"I wish Saunders was back," he said; "one can't tackle this sort of
thing alone." It was after eleven, and there seemed little likelihood of
Saunders returning before twelve. He did not dare to leave the shelf
unwatched, even to run downstairs to ring the bell. Morton the butler
often used to come round about eleven to see that the windows were
fastened, but he might not come. Eustace was thoroughly unstrung. At
last he heard steps down below.

"Morton!" he shouted; "Morton!"

"Sir?"

"Has Mr. Saunders got back yet?"

"Not yet, sir."

"Well, bring me some brandy, and hurry up about it. I'm up here in the
gallery, you duffer."

"Thanks," said Eustace, as he emptied the glass. "Don't go to bed yet,
Morton. There are a lot of books that have fallen down by accident;
bring them up and put them back in their shelves."

Morton had never seen Borlsover in so talkative a mood as on that night.
"Here," said Eustace, when the books h