And through it all, so obtuse was I, that no glimmer of the truth entered my mind.  Outside again in the long, brightly lighted corridor, we stood for a moment as if a mutual anticipation of some new event pending had come to us.  It was curious that sudden pulling up and silent questioning of one another; because, although we acted thus, no sound had reached us.  A few seconds later our anticipation was realized.  From the direction of the stairs it came—­a low wailing in a woman’s voice; and the sweetness of the tones added to the terror of the sound.  I clutched at Smith’s arm convulsively whilst that uncanny cry rose and fell—­rose and fell—­and died away.

Neither of us moved immediately.  My mind was working with feverish rapidity and seeking to run down a memory which the sound had stirred into faint quickness.  My heart was still leaping wildly when the wailing began again, rising and falling in regular cadence.  At that instant I identified it.

During the time Smith and I had spent together in Egypt, two years before, searching for Karamaneh, I had found myself on one occasion in the neighborhood of a native cemetery near to Bedrasheen.  Now, the scene which I had witnessed there rose up again vividly before me, and I seemed to see a little group of black-robed women clustered together about a native grave; for the wailing which now was dying away again in the Gables was the same, or almost the same, as the wailing of those Egyptian mourners.

The house was very silent again, now.  My forehead was damp with perspiration, and I became more and more convinced that the uncanny ordeal must prove too much for my nerves.  Hitherto, I had accorded little credence to tales of the supernatural, but face to face with such manifestations as these, I realized that I would have faced rather a group of armed dacoits, nay!  Dr. Fu-Manchu himself, than have remained another hour in that ill-omened house.

My companion must have read as much in my face.  But he kept up the strange, and to me, purposeless comedy, when presently he spoke.

“I feel it to be incumbent upon me to suggest,” he said, “that we spend the night at a hotel after all.”

He walked rapidly downstairs and into the library and began to strap up the grip.

“After all,” he said, “there may be a natural explanation of what we’ve heard; for it is noteworthy that we have actually seen nothing.  It might even be possible to get used to the ringing and the wailing after a time.  Frankly, I am loath to go back on my bargain!”

Whilst I stared at him in amazement, he stood there indeterminate as it seemed, Then: 

“Come, Pearce!” he cried loudly, “I can see that you do not share my views; but for my own part I shall return to-morrow and devote further attention to the phenomena.”

Extinguishing the light, he walked out into the hallway, carrying the grip in his hand.  I was not far behind him.  We walked toward the door together, and: