Within That Room! by John Russell Fearn Page A

usual, and this time she had no comments to make. What few remarks she did pass were directed entirely to matters of cuisine and nothing more. Nor did Vera or Dick give her any encouragement by indulging in vital conversation. Altogether the meal passed in uncommon quietness, and the moment it was over Vera and Dick glanced at the big timepiece ticking solemnly on the heavy stone mantelshelf. It was exactly a quarter to eight.
    â€œTime for a smoke,” Dick said, “and then to the evening’s business.”
    He got up from the table and Vera did likewise. Together they strolled across the hall to the drawing room and sat down in easy chairs to enjoy their cigarettes.
    â€œI rather think,” Dick said presently, “that we have got the dragon on toast. She must know by now that we’re on to her game, whatever it is, and she is probably racking her brains to think of a way out.”
    â€œOr else trying to think of some way to put us out of commission more quickly,” Vera murmured. “I don’t trust a dead silence; it makes me uneasy.”
    She got to her feet suddenly, as though she felt an impelling urge to keep moving.
    She said: “There is no surer way of fraying the nerves than sitting here. Let’s go and get the business done with.”
    Dick got up and followed her and just as the grandfather clock in the hall was striking eight o’clock, they were outside the door of that deadly room once more. Propped against the frame in readiness was the screwdriver.
    â€œWe’re nearly half an hour too soon,” Dick remarked, “so let’s hope the ghost will be ahead of time. We’ll take a look, anyway.”
    He tried to sound cheerful by whistling, then, realizing he was only being unconvincing, he gave it up and instead applied all his energies to withdrawing the one solidly driven screw. It came out at last and a crack of light appeared down the side of the door as it swung inward slightly.
    â€œGo on,” Vera urged. “A flashing glimpse—no more.”
    He nodded and held the doorknob tightly, leaned his body inward with arm out-thrust. The door creaked to its limit. They had time to gaze into that empty space, to note that some sunshine was pouring through one corner of the great stained-glass window—then the door had shut again.
    â€œWhew,” Dick whispered, drawing the back of his hand across his moist forehead, “That took a bit of nerve—like taking the fuse out of a time bomb. And there’s nothing in there—no ghost—as far as I could see.”
    â€œNot time yet, perhaps,” Vera said. “Have to wait a bit. Did you notice any queer sensations? I didn’t.”
    â€œWe were probably too quick for that.”
    They waited through the most wearying, nerve-racking twenty-five minutes they had ever known. And not once during this period did either Mr. or Mrs. Falworth appear. Apparently, they had decided to give up their protests and let things take their course.
    â€œHalf-past eight,” Vera said at last in a hushed voice, looking at her watch. “Here we go!”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN
    BACK STAIRWAY
    Dick opened the door again swiftly, Vera clinging to him—and they were so astounded at what they saw that he forgot for the moment to slam the door shut again.
    For the phantom was there—clearly visible in the sunlight, which now blazed across the upper half of the great window. A strange, incredible caricature of a being hung in the dusty air, a haze of blurry light surrounding it from the back. There was the pointed tail, the simian ears, the long, needle-chinned face, bent arms flexed as though to pounce forward. He seemed to be grinning horribly. Yet he was in mid-air, and through him the ancient stone wall could be distinctly seen.
    Dick slammed the door and found himself looking into Vera’s dumbfounded eyes.
    â€œThen it...it does exist,” she gasped, shocked by