Collected Ghost Stories by M. R. James, Darryl Jones

before.
    ‘But what in the name of Heaven does it mean?’ broke out the lawyer. ‘Where is it? Who is it? Am I going out of my mind?’
    ‘Surely, Herr Jensen, it comes from your room next door? Isn’t there a cat or something stuck in the chimney?’
    This was the best that occurred to Anderson to say, and he realized its futility as he spoke; but anything was better than to stand and listen to that horrible voice, and look at the broad, white face of the landlord, all perspiring and quivering as he clutched the arms of his chair.
    ‘Impossible,’ said the lawyer, ‘impossible. There is no chimney. I came here because I was convinced the noise was going on here. It was certainly in the next room to mine.’
    ‘Was there no door between yours and mine?’ said Anderson eagerly.
    ‘No, sir,’ said Herr Jensen, rather sharply. ‘At least, not this morning.’
    ‘Ah!’ said Anderson. ‘Nor to-night?’
    ‘I am not sure,’ said the lawyer with some hesitation.
    Suddenly the crying or singing voice in the next room died away, and the singer was heard seemingly to laugh to himself in a crooning manner. The three men actually shivered at the sound. Then there was a silence.
    ‘Come,’ said the lawyer, ‘what have you to say, Herr Kristensen? What does this mean?’
    ‘Good Heaven!’ said Kristensen. ‘How should I tell! I know no more than you, gentlemen. I pray I may never hear such a noise again.’
    ‘So do I,’ said Herr Jensen, and he added something under his breath. Anderson thought it sounded like the last words of the Psalter, ‘
omnis spiritus laudet Dominum
,’ * but he could not be sure.
    ‘But we must do something,’ said Anderson—‘the three of us. Shall we go and investigate in the next room?’
    ‘But that is Herr Jensen’s room,’ wailed the landlord. ‘It is no use; he has come from there himself.’
    ‘I am not so sure,’ said Jensen. ‘I think this gentleman is right: we must go and see.’
    The only weapons of defence that could be mustered on the spot were a stick and umbrella. The expedition went out into the passage, not without quakings. There was a deadly quiet outside, but a light shone from under the next door. Anderson and Jensen approached it. The latter turned the handle, and gave a sudden vigorous push. No use. The door stood fast.
    ‘Herr Kristensen,’ said Jensen, ‘will you go and fetch the strongest servant you have in the place? We must see this through.’
    The landlord nodded, and hurried off, glad to be away from the scene of action. Jensen and Anderson remained outside looking at the door.
    ‘It
is
Number 13, you see,’ said the latter.
    ‘Yes; there is your door, and there is mine,’ said Jensen.
    ‘My room has three windows in the daytime,’ said Anderson, with difficulty suppressing a nervous laugh.
    ‘By George, so has mine!’ said the lawyer, turning and looking at Anderson. His back was now to the door. In that moment the door opened, and an arm came out and clawed at his shoulder. It was clad in ragged, yellowish linen, and the bare skin, where it could be seen, had long grey hair upon it.
    Anderson was just in time to pull Jensen out of its reach with a cry of disgust and fright, when the door shut again, and a low laugh was heard.
    Jensen had seen nothing, but when Anderson hurriedly told him what a risk he had run, he fell into a great state of agitation, andsuggested that they should retire from the enterprise and lock themselves up in one or other of their rooms.
    However, while he was developing this plan, the landlord and two able-bodied men arrived on the scene, all looking rather serious and alarmed. Jensen met them with a torrent of description and explanation, which did not at all tend to encourage them for the fray.
    The men dropped the crowbars they had brought, and said flatly that they were not going to risk their throats in that devil’s den. The landlord was miserably nervous and undecided, conscious that if the danger