With that he opened the window to its fullest extent, threw his leg over the sill, and went creeping along a wide concrete ledge, in which ran a leaded gutter, in the direction of the tower on the right!

Not pausing to follow his instructions respecting the chair, I craned out of the window, watching his progress, and wondering with what sudden madness he was bitten.  Indeed, I could not credit my senses, could not believe that I heard and saw aright.  Yet there out in the darkness on the moor moved the will-o’-the-wisp, and ten yards along the gutter crept my friend, like a great gaunt cat.  Unknown to me he must have prospected the route by daylight, for now I saw his design.  The ledge terminated only where it met the ancient wall of the tower, and it was possible for an agile climber to step from it to the edge of the unglazed window some four feet below, and to scramble from that point to the stone fence and thence on to the path by which we had come from Saul.

This difficult operation Nayland Smith successfully performed, and, to my unbounded amazement, went racing into the darkness toward the dancing light, headlong, like a madman!  The night swallowed him up, and between my wonder and my fear my hands trembled so violently that I could scarce support myself where I rested, with my full weight upon the sill.

I seemed now to be moving through the fevered phases of a nightmare.  Around and below me Cragmire Tower was profoundly silent, but a faint odor of cookery was now perceptible.  Outside, from the night, came a faint whispering as of the distant sea, but no moon and no stars relieved the impenetrable blackness.  Only out over the moor the mysterious light still danced and moved.

One—­two—­three—­four—­five minutes passed.  The light vanished and did not appear again.  Five more age-long minutes elapsed in absolute silence, whilst I peered into the darkness of the night and listened, every nerve in my body tense, for the return of Nayland Smith.  Yet two more minutes, which embraced an agony of suspense, passed in the same fashion; then a shadowy form grew, phantomesque, out of the gloom; a moment more, and I distinctly heard the heavy breathing of a man nearly spent, and saw my friend scrambling up toward the black embrasure in the tower.  His voice came huskily, pantingly: 

“Creep along and lend me a hand, Petrie!  I am nearly winded.”

I crept through the window, steadied my quivering nerves by an effort of the will, and reached the end of the ledge in time to take Smith’s extended hand and to draw him up beside me against the wall of the tower.  He was shaking with his exertions, and must have fallen, I think, without my assistance.  Inside the room again: 

“Quick! light the candles!” he breathed hoarsely.

“Did any one come?”

“No one—­nothing.”

Having expended several matches in vain, for my fingers twitched nervously, I ultimately succeeded in relighting the candles.