“I should think I had watched for about an hour and a half, when, suddenly, I heard a faint noise, away up the corridor.  I was immediately conscious of a queer prickling sensation about the back of my head, and my hands began to sweat a little.  The following instant, the whole end of the passage flicked into sight in the abrupt glare of the flashlight.  There came the succeeding darkness, and I peered nervously up the corridor, listening tensely, and trying to find what lay beyond the faint glow of my dark-lamp, which now seemed ridiculously dim by contrast with the tremendous blaze of the flash-power....  And then, as I stooped forward, staring and listening, there came the crashing thud of the door of the Grey Room.  The sound seemed to fill the whole of the large corridor, and go echoing hollowly through the house.  I tell you, I felt horrible—­as if my bones were water.  Simply beastly.  Jove! how I did stare, and how I listened.  And then it came again—­thud, thud, thud, and then a silence that was almost worse than the noise of the door; for I kept fancying that some awful thing was stealing upon me along the corridor.  And then, suddenly, my lamp was put out, and I could not see a yard before me.  I realized all at once that I was doing a very silly thing, sitting there, and I jumped up.  Even as I did so, I thought I heard a sound in the passage, and quite near me.  I made one backward spring into my room, and slammed and locked the door.  I sat on my bed, and stared at the door.  I had my revolver in my hand; but it seemed an abominably useless thing.  I felt that there was something the other side of that door.  For some unknown reason I knew it was pressed up against the door, and it was soft.  That was just what I thought.  Most extraordinary thing to think.

“Presently I got hold of myself a bit, and marked out a pentacle hurriedly with chalk on the polished floor; and there I sat in it almost until dawn.  And all the time, away up the corridor, the door of the Grey Room thudded at solemn and horrid intervals.  It was a miserable, brutal night.

“When the day began to break, the thudding of the door came gradually to an end, and, at last, I got hold of my courage, and went along the corridor in the half light to cap the lens of my camera.  I can tell you, it took some doing; but if I had not done so my photograph would have been spoilt, and I was tremendously keen to save it.  I got back to my room, and then set-to and rubbed out the five-pointed star in which I had been sitting.

“Half an hour later there was a tap at my door.  It was Peter with my coffee.  When I had drunk it, we both went along to the Grey Room.  As we went, I had a look at the seals on the other doors; but they were untouched.  The seal on the door of the Grey Room was broken, as also was the string from the trigger of the flashlight; but the card over the keyhole was still there.  I ripped it off, and opened the door.  Nothing unusual was to be seen until we came to the bed; then I saw that, as on the previous day, the bedclothes had been torn off, and hurled into the left-hand corner, exactly where I had seen them before.  I felt very queer; but I did not forget to look at all the seals, only to find that not one had been broken.