y horror the door closed
suddenly behind me. Hurriedly striking a match, I held it above my head
and peered about me. Its light revealed a small apartment finished in
polished wood. Along the angle of the floor was an opening, two or three
inches high, into the side walls. And half way up the wall in front of
me I saw a face--the face of a maniac it seemed to be--pale and wan,
with strange, inhuman eyes. I had scarcely glanced at it when the match
dropped from my fingers and fell slowly through the air, going out as it
struck the floor. My hands were cold, but so wet with perspiration that
they stuck to my clothing when I felt for a candle which I had brought
with me.

There are moments in every man's life that move slowly, as if carrying
the weight of years upon their backs. I shall never cease to believe
that the few seconds it took me to light that candle must stand for as
many years in any correct reckoning of my age. When its beams at last
illumined the room, the strange face was still there. Had I seen it
before? It was marvellously like that other face which had haunted my
dreams so long. If it was the face of a man he must be standing on the
other side of the wall and looking through a panel.

"Is Mr. Lane at home?" I asked in an unnatural tone that startled me.

But no word of reply was spoken.

"I am his nephew and I have important news for him."

The face disappeared for a moment, and presently a shrunken hand,
holding a white sheet of paper, was extended through the opening. I
stepped forward, took the sheet and, withdrawing to the centre of the
room, sat down upon the floor and wrote the following message in bold
characters with my pencil:

"Kendric Lane, son of Kendric Lane (deceased), late of London, England,
wishes to see Dr. Lane on business of importance."

I handed the message to the strange man behind the wall, who immediately
disappeared with it, closing the panel. "The worst is over," thought
I, while I stood in that mysterious and silent chamber waiting for his
return. But I should not have thought so had I known what was still to
be revealed to me before the dawn of another day, and in the months that
followed, during which that house and its echoing groves were my home.
And I sometimes ask myself, in the light of later events of which that
visit was indirectly the cause, whether, had I been able to foresee
them, I would still have persevered in my purpose to know the secrets of
my uncle'