There was a key in the lock of the door, which Wogan turned; he also tilted a chair and wedged the handle.  He opened the window and looked out.  His room was on the first floor and not very high from the ground.  A man might possibly climb through the window.  Gaydon would assuredly close the shutters and the window, so that no one could force an entrance without noise.  Wogan accordingly did what Gaydon would assuredly have done, and when he blew out his candle found himself in consequence in utter darkness.  No glimmer of light was anywhere visible.  He had his habits like another, and one of them was to sleep without blinds or curtains drawn.  His present deflection from this habit made him restless; he was tired, he wished above all things to sleep, but sleep would not come.  He turned from one side to the other, he punched his pillows, he tried to sleep with his head low, and when that failed with his head high.

He resigned himself in the end to a sleepless night, and lying in his bed drew some comfort from the sound of voices and the tread of feet in the passages and the rooms about him.  These, at all events, were companionable, and they assured him of safety.  But in a while they ceased, and he was left in a silence as absolute as the darkness.  He endured this silence for perhaps half an hour, and then all manner of infinitesimal sounds began to stir about him.  The lightest of footsteps moved about his bed, faint sighs breathed from very close at hand, even his name was softly whispered.  He sat suddenly up in his bed, and at once all these sounds became explained to him.  They came from the street and the square outside the window.  So long as he sat up they were remote, but the moment he lay down again they peopled the room.

“Sure,” said Wogan, “here is a lesson for architects.  Build no shutters to a house when the man that has to live in it has a spark of imagination, else will he go stark raving mad before the mortar’s dry.  Window shutters are window shutters, but they are the doors of Bedlam as well.  Now Gaydon should have slept in this room.  Gaydon’s a great man.  Gaydon has a great deal of observation and common sense, and was never plagued with a flim-flam of fancies.  To be sure, I need Gaydon, but since I have not Gaydon, I’ll light a candle.”

With that Wogan got out of bed.  He had made himself so secure with his key and his tilted chair and his shutters that he had not thought of placing his candle by his bedside.  It stood by his looking-glass on the table.  Now the room was so pitch dark that Wogan could do no more than guess at the position even of the window.  The table, he remembered, was not far from the door, and the door was at some distance from his bed, and in the wall on his right.  He moved forward in the darkness with his hands in front of him, groping for the table.  The room was large; in a little his hands touched something, and that something was a pillar of the bed.  He