“And then that night again my mother’s door was slammed once more just after midnight.  I caught up the lamp, and when I reached her door, I found it shut.  I opened it quickly, and went in, to find my mother lying with her eyes open, and rather nervous; having been waked by the bang of the door.  But what upset me more than anything, was the fact that there was a disgusting smell in the passage and in her room.

“Whilst I was asking her whether she was all right, a door slammed twice downstairs; and you can imagine how it made me feel.  My mother and I looked at one another; and then I lit her candle, and taking the poker from the fender, went downstairs with the lamp, beginning to feel really nervous.  The cumulative effect of so many queer happenings was getting hold of me; and all the apparently reasonable explanations seemed futile.

“The horrible smell seemed to be very strong in the downstairs passage; also in the front room and the cellars; but chiefly in the passage.  I made a very thorough search of the house, and when I had finished, I knew that all the lower windows and doors were properly shut and fastened, and that there was no living thing in the house, beyond our two selves.  Then I went up to my mother’s room again, and we talked the thing over for an hour or more, and in the end came to the conclusion that we might, after all, be reading too much into a number of little things; but, you know, inside of us, we did not believe this.

“Later, when we had talked ourselves into a more comfortable state of mind, I said good night, and went off to bed; and presently managed to get to sleep.

“In the early hours of the morning, whilst it was still dark, I was waked by a loud noise.  I sat up in bed, and listened.  And from downstairs, I heard:—­bang, bang, bang, one door after another being slammed; at least, that is the impression the sounds gave to me.

“I jumped out of bed, with the tingle and shiver of sudden fright on me; and at the same moment, as I lit my candle, my door was pushed slowly open; I had left it unlatched, so as not to feel that my mother was quite shut off from me.

“‘Who’s there?’ I shouted out, in a voice twice as deep as my natural one, and with a queer breathlessness, that sudden fright so often gives one.  ‘Who’s there?’

“Then I heard my mother saying:—­

“‘It’s me, Thomas.  Whatever is happening downstairs?’

“She was in the room by this, and I saw she had her bedroom poker in one hand, and her candle in the other.  I could have smiled at her, had it not been for the extraordinary sounds downstairs.

“I got into my slippers, and reached down an old sword bayonet from the wall; then I picked up my candle, and begged my mother not to come; but I knew it would be little use, if she had made up her mind; and she had, with the result that she acted as a sort of rearguard for me, during our search.  I know, in some ways, I was very glad to have her with me, as you will understand.