visit we had discovered a fuel box in one of the empty rooms, we presently had a cheerful fire burning.
I had brought the book from the library which had so interested me, and, lighting my pipe and finding an easy chair, I prepared for such comfort as I might enjoy under the circumstances. I looked up from time to time at Jim, who was reclining on a couch, smoking placidly.
"Jim," I asked presently, "did you ever read 'The Haunted and the Haunters?"
"No," he replied, "what's it about?"
"It's a ghost story with two men in a similar position to our own. One of them ran!"
"And left the other in the lurch? He must have been a rum guy; but that's the way with stories. They're always making a hero of one and a coward of the other fellow.
"Say, Dick," he continued, with a yawn, "let's have a game of Cribbage."
"Good thought," I answered. "Got a deck of cards?"
"Yes, I brought 'em along for the purpose."
While were arranging the table and chairs, Jim walked over to what appeared to be a heavy, box-like frame on the far wall.
"Hello!" he said, and then: "It's the picture with its face turned toward the wall," He proceeded at once to turn the picture, for such it was, face outward. It proved to be a full length portrait of a young man of twenty-five or thereabouts, dressed richly in the style of the latter part of the Eighteenth Century. The face was an evil one, the eyes hard, the mouth cruel and treacherous. It was the likeness, undoubtedly, of one of the Ormonds, as the family characteristic stood forth prominently. The hands enormous, monstrous hands-were depicted with careful detail as if the owner were proud of them.
The repugnant face, and those fearful hands, made a distinctly disagreeable impression on me, and I asked Jim to return the picture to its former position. He endeavored to do so, but found it immovable. Again he tried with all his strength, and failed. And at that moment a horrid laugh sounded through the room.
Jim turned on me, his lips twitching. "What did you do that for?" he demanded.
"I didn't," I said. "But come, if it is any satisfaction to the owner of that face to have it exposed to view, why let it hang. Let's get to our game."
We drew up our chairs. Jim sat with his back to the picture, the hands of which drew my eyes like a magnet; the whole figure brooded over us like an evil spirit. We played indifferently for an hour. Jim stopped to fill and light his pipe. As he was about to reach for the deck which lay in the center of the table, it was quickly lifted and, unsupported in the air, the cards began to fall in two piles. We watched them with staring eyes and rigid muscles.
"The euchre deck," Jim whispered. "It wants to get into the game."
As if in confirmation of the words, the pack containing the face cards was taken up and skillfully shuffled. It was then passed to me to cut. I cut. Again the pack was raised and two cards drifted to me, two others falling at the empty space between Jim and me. This was repeated until I had twelve cards. The other twelve were then raised, were slipped rapidly between invisible fingers just as a skillful player would do, and then hung motionless, fan shape.
"I'm not in it, it seems. Play the game, Dick, if you know what it is."
"I think I do, but I'll know in a second," and I picked up and sorted the cards, made a discard and led an ace. Immediately a small card in the same suit dropped on my lead. The strange game continued.
Suddenly. Jim leaned forward and looked into the hand of my opponent. I heard a smacking sound, like a blow, and Jim drew back with a cry, a livid mark on his face.
And then, before I could say a word, he sprang to feet and, drawing his gun, shot once, twice, into the center of the suspended hand of cards. They flew in all directions, and at the same instant the automatic was snatched from his hand and he reeled violently backward and fell to the floor with a crash.
For a moment he lay there, then rose slowly on his elbow and stared stupidly around. Suddenly his eyes fixed and bulged. He got to his hands and knees and backed toward the wall, crab fashion. His eyes remained fastened, immovably, on some object that seemed to be creeping upon him. And then a blood-curdling shriek came from his lips, and with a cry of "Take them away, Dick, take them away!" he rose, pulled open the door and dashed down the hall and the stairs.
In another second I heard the crash of the front door, the sound of the quick explosions of the engine in the automobile, its rapidly retreating echo, and then silence-utter, absolute silence. It had all happened so quickly I had been petrified into inaction.
With a cry of fear, I leaped to the door, only to have it slammed to in my face. With desperate, heart-breaking efforts, I endeavored to wrench it open. Useless!
I was trapped, alone, in the room with the red paneled door!
SLOWLY I regained my equilibrium cards! and calm. Not without the strongest exercise of will power and reasoning, however.
Why I was not crushed, annihilated, in that moment of demoralization, I will never know. I only know that for some purpose the unseen power in the room was quiescent. But not for long.
As I turned, with my back to the door, I became dimly aware of some presence in the room. The temperature began to fall rapidly, although the fire burned brightly.
By this time I had recovered fully my grip upon my nerves and I waited, tensely but calmly, whatever was to follow. Then, quickly, like a candle, the fire was snuffed out.
"Come !" I said, "that trick has been worked threadbare. Can't you originate something new? I suppose," I continued, merely for something to say, "that the light will go next, although I am curious to know how you will get around a comparatively new element like electricity."
As if in answer to my words the thirty-two candle power lamp went out. I was in blank darkness! With an effort I repulsed the sudden rush of fear that assailed my heart; I resolutely ignored the hideous sensation that played up and down my spine, and, groping my way over to where the lamp hung, I reached for it, at first confidently, then, as it evaded my grasp, with frantic, desperate hands that stabbed and clawed the midnight gloom. At last, with a sigh of infinite relief, my hands closed round the still warm globe. The key had not been turned.
Back to the door I went with a leap, and peered through the keyhole. The lights in the hall were burning. I reached up and caught the cord that had passed through the crack made by the door settling away from the jamb. I pulled this gently, then walked, with the cord passing through my fingers, until I came again to the lamp. The circuit was intact. And yet I-could get no light!
All of this time I was conscious of a presence near me. I felt something following
