“See?” he went on, withdrawing it, and starting to explain the properties of the new fire-proofer.

He had scarcely begun, when he stopped in surprise.  He had happened to glance at the paper again, bent over to examine it more intently, and was now looking at it in surprise.

I looked also.  There, clearly discernible on the paper, was a small part of what looked like an architect’s drawing of a fireplace.

Craig looked up at me, nonplussed.  “Where did you say you got that?” he asked.

“It was a blank piece of paper among Bennett’s effects,” I returned, as mystified as he, pointing at the littered desk at which I had been working.

Kennedy said nothing, but thrust the paper back again into the flame.  Slowly, the heat of the burner seemed to bring out the complete drawing of the fireplace.

We looked at it, even more mystified.  “What is it, do you suppose?” I queried.

“I think,” he replied slowly, “that it was drawn with sympathetic ink.  The heat of the burner brought it out into sight.”

What was it about?

. . . . . . .

Elaine had gone to bed that night at Aunt Tabby’s in the room which her old nurse had fixed up especially for her.  It was a very attractive little room with dainty chintz curtains and covers and for the first time in many weeks Elaine slept soundly and fearlessly.

Down-stairs, in the living-room, Rusty also was asleep, his nose between his paws.

The living-room was in keeping with everything at Aunt Tabby’s, plain, neat, homelike.  On one side was a large fireplace that gave to it an air of quaint hospitality.

Suddenly Rusty woke up, his ears pointed at this fireplace.  He stood a moment, listening, then, with a bark of alarm he sped swiftly from the living-room, up the stairs at a bound, until he came to Elaine’s room.

Elaine felt his cold nose at her hand and stirred, then awoke.

“What is it, Rusty?” she asked, mindful of the former days when Rusty gave warning of the Clutching Hand and his emissaries.

Rusty wagged his tail.  Something was wrong.

Elaine followed him down to the living-room.  She went over and lighted the electric lamp on the table, then turned to Rusty.

“Well, Rusty?” she asked, almost as if he were human.

She had no need to repeat the question.  Rusty was looking straight at the fireplace.

Elaine listened.  Sure enough, she heard strange noises.  Was that Aunt Tabby’s “haunt”?  Whatever it was, it sounded as if it came up from the very depths of the earth.

She could not make out just what it sounded like.  It might have been some one striking a piece of iron, a bolt, with a sledge.

What was it?

She continued to listen in wonder, then ran to Aunt Tabby’s bedroom door, on the first floor, and knocked.