Halliday spoke in nothing more than a low, calm, serious voice. He said: 'Aunt Anne, are you trying to drive me mad?'
'We are trying to save you, dear boy.'
'Thanks,' said Halliday. 'That's jolly good of you.'
His hoarse tones had struck the wrong note again. He looked round at stony faces.
'I loved James,' said Lady Benning, and her face was suddenly pitted with wrinkles. 'He was strong, but he could not stand them. So they will come for you, because you are James's brother and you are alive. James told me so, and he cannot ... you see, it is to give him peace. Not you. James. And until this thing is exorcised, not you, nor James will sleep.
'You came here tonight. Perhaps it is best. There is safety in the circle. But this is the anniversary, and there is danger. Mr. Darworth is resting now. At midnight he will go alone to the little stone house in the yard, and before daylight he will have cleansed it. Not even the boy Joseph will go with him. Joseph has great powers, but they are receptive. He has not the knowledge to exorcise. We shall wait here. Perhaps we shall form a circle, although that may only hinder him. That is all, I think.'
Halliday glanced at his fiancee.
'You two,' he said harshly, 'came here alone with Darworth?'
She smiled faintly. His presence seemed to comfort her, though she was a little afraid of him. She came close, and took his arm.
'Dear old boy,' she said - and it was the first human tone of voice we had heard in that literally damned house-'you are rather a tonic, you know. When I, hear you talking like that, in just that particular way, it seems to change everything. If we're not afraid, there's nothing to fear....'
'But this medium - '
She shook his arm. 'Dean, a thousand times, I've told you Mr. Darworth is not a medium! He is a psychic, yes. But he concerns himself with causes rather than effects.' She turned to Masters and me. Marion Latimer looked tired, but she was making an effort to be light and easy in an almost teasing fashion. 'I suppose you know something about it, if Dean doesn't. Tell him the difference between a medium and a psychical researcher. Like Joseph and Mr. Darworth.'
Masters shifted heavily from one foot to the other. He was impassive, he did not even look pleased, standing there turning his bowler round in his hands; but I, who knew him well, could detect a curious ring in the slow, patient, reflective tones.
'Why, yes, miss,' he said. 'I think I can tell you from my certain knowledge that I have never known Mr. Darworth to lend himself to demonstrations. Of himself, that is.'
'You know Mr. Darworth?' she asked quickly.
'Ah! No, miss. Not exactly, that is. But I don't want to interrupt; you were saying-eh?'
She looked at Masters again, rather puzzled. I was uneasy; the words 'police officer' were to me as patent as though he had worn a placard, and I wondered if she had spotted him. Her cool, quick eyes searched his face; but she dismissed whatever notion she had.
'But I was telling you, Dean. We're certainly not alone here with Mr. Darworth and Joseph. Not that we should have minded....' (Now what was this? Halliday had muttered something and jerked his head; while she was trying to look him out of countenance with a thin, bright imperiousness). 'Not that we should have minded,' she repeated, straightening her shoulders, 'but, as a matter of fact, Ted and the major are here too.'
'Eh? Your brother,' he said, 'and old Featherton? Oh, my Lord!'
'Ted believes. Be careful, my dear.'
'Because you do. Oh, I don't doubt it. I went through the same phase at Cambridge, at his age. The soundest beef-eater isn't immune. Mystical-incense-swinging-love and glory of God wrapping you round. I believe they get it worse at Oxford.' He stopped. 'But where the devil are they, then? Not out daring the emanations?'
'As a matter of fact, they're out in the little stone house. Lighting a fire for Mr. Darworth when he goes to watch.' She attempted to speak lightly. 'Ted made this fire. It's not very good, is it? Oh, my dear, what is the matter with you?'
He had begun to pace to and fro, so that the candle flames swung with his passage. Now he said: 'Good! That reminds me; you gentlemen will want to see over the house, and that little fountainhead of iniquity out in the yard.... '
'You're not going out there?'
The sandy eyebrows went up. 'Certainly, Marion. I was out there last night.'
'He will be a fool,' Lady Benning said gently and sweetly, with closed eyes. 'But we will protect him in spite of himself. Let him go. Mr. Darworth, dear Mr. Darworth, can protect him.'
'Come along, Blake,' said Halliday, and nodded curtly.
The girl made as if to stop him, with an uncertain gesture. I could hear a curious scraping, ticking sound; it was the rings on Lady Benning's fingers brushing the arm of the chair, but it sounded horribly like rats in a wall. The small dainty face was turned dreamily towards Halliday and I saw how much she hated him.
'Don't disturb Mr. Darworth,' she said. 'It is nearly time.'
Halliday got out his flashlight and we followed him into the hall. There was a tall creaky door, which he scraped shut by putting his finger into the empty knobhole. Then we stood in the damp, heavy darkness, and there were three electric torches switched on now. Halliday flashed his light first into my face and then into Masters'.
'Anoint ye, witch,'' he said, as mockingly as he could. 'Well? What do you think, now, about what I've been through for the last six months?'
Blinking in the light, Masters put on his hat again. He picked his words with care. 'Why, Mr. Halliday, if you'll take us somewhere else-where we couldn't be overheard-why, maybe I can tell you. A little, at least. I'm even more grateful at being brought here, now.'
I saw him smile as the light moved away. From what we could see of it, the hall was even more desolate than the room behind. Its floor was of stone flags, over which patterned wood had been at one time laid; but this was long carried away, like the paneling. It remained a bleak, square vault, with a heavy staircase at the far end, and three tall doors on either side. A rat scuttled across the light; we could hear the scrape of its feet as it vanished near the staircase. Masters went along ahead, his light probing. Halliday and I followed as quietly as we could; Halliday whispered to me, 'Can you feel it again?' and I nodded. I knew what he meant. It had gathered round again, tightening and closing. If you have ever done any swimming underwater, and stayed down too long, and been suddenly terrorized that you will never get to the surface again, you will understand a very similar sensation.
'Don't,' said Halliday, 'don't let's get separated.' For Masters was some distance ahead, prowling near the staircase. It was with a sense of shock that we saw him stop beside the paneling that enclosed its side; stop dead, and stare down. The light before him silhouetted his prim bowler hat and his big shoulders. Stooping, he went down on one knee. We heard him grunt.
There were some darkish stains on the flagstones near the side of the stair. The little space thereabouts was clean of dust. Masters reached out and touched the panel. It was a little door to a low closet under the steps; as Masters pushed it, there was a wild stirring and rushing of rats inside. A few of the creatures darted out - one of them over Masters' foot but he did not move from his kneeling position. I could see the reflection on the high gloss of one shoe as he poked the flashlight into the foul little space beyond. .
He stared; the damp, musty air turned suffocating in my lungs; then he spoke, gruffly.
'It's all right, sir,' said Masters. 'All right. It ain't nice, though. It's only a cat.' 'A cat?'
'Yes, sir. A cat. It's got its throat cut.'
Halliday jerked back. I leaned over Masters' shoulder and turned my light inside. Somebody or something had thrust it in there to be out of sight. It had not been dead long, and lay on its back, so I could see that the neck had been slit through. It was a black cat, stiffened out with agony; now turning shrunken and wiry and dusty, and the half-open eyes looked like shoe-buttons. There were things moving about it.
'I'm beginning to think, Mr. Blake,' said Masters, rubbing his chin, 'that maybe there's a kind of devil in this house after all.'
With a stolid disgust he pulled the door shut again, and got up.
'But,' said Halliday, 'who would-?' He peered over his shoulder.
'Ah! That's it. Who would? And why? Would you call it a piece of deliberate cruelty, now, or was there a
