"She is asleep," said Violet.
It seemed to me she was: although I could not see her, it seemed to me she was. I could hear her breathing as softly as a child Violet continued whispering —
"How strange! Eric, what can it mean?"
I muttered a reply —
"A problem for the Psychical Research Society."
"It seems just like a dream."
"I wish it were a dream."
"S-sh! There is someone coming down the stairs."
There was — at least, if we could trust our ears, there was. Apparently the man above had had enough of solitude. We heard him move across the roof, then pause just by the steps, then descend them one by one. It seemed to us that in this step there was something stealthy, that he was endeavouring not to arouse attention, to make as little noise as possible. Half-way down he paused; at the foot he paused again.
"He's listening outside the door." It almost seemed that he was. We stood and listened too. "Let's get away from the bed."
My wife drew me with her. At the opposite end of the cabin was a sort of little alcove, which was screened by a curtain, and behind which were hung one or two of our garments which we were not actually using. Violet drew me within the shadow of this alcove. I say drew me because, offering no resistance, I allowed myself to be completely passive in her hands. The alcove was not large enough to hold us. Still the curtain acted as a partial screen.
