beside the fire, and heard a sharp cry from within the room. An instant later a whitefaced, 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 gave 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.”
