the lock."

"Quite a lively evening," said Saunders. "Now let's hear more about your
uncle."

They sat up together until early morning. Saunders had no desire for
sleep. Eustace was trying to explain and to forget: to conceal from
himself a fear that he had never felt before--the fear of walking alone
down the long corridor to his bedroom.

III

"Whatever it was," said Eustace to Saunders on the following morning, "I
propose that we drop the subject. There's nothing to keep us here for
the next ten days. We'll motor up to the Lakes and get some climbing."

"And see nobody all day, and sit bored to death with each other every
night. Not for me, thanks. Why not run up to town? Run's the exact word
in this case, isn't it? We're both in such a blessed funk. Pull yourself
together, Eustace, and let's have another look at the hand."

"As you like," said Eustace; "there's the key." They went into the
library and opened the desk. The box was as they had left it on the
previous night.

"What are you waiting for?" asked Eustace.

"I am waiting for you to volunteer to open the lid. However, since you
seem to funk it, allow me. There doesn't seem to be the likelihood of
any rumpus this morning, at all events." He opened the lid and picked
out the hand.

"Cold?" asked Eustace.

"Tepid. A bit below blood-heat by the feel. Soft and supple too. If it's
the embalming, it's a sort of embalming I've never seen before. Is it
your uncle's hand?"

"Oh, yes, it's his all right," said Eustace. "I should know those long
thin fingers anywhere. Put it back in the box, Saunders. Never mind
about the screws. I'll lock the desk, so that there'll be no chance of
its getting out. We'll compromise by motoring up to town for a week. If
we get off soon after lunch we ought to be at Grantham or Stamford by
night."

"Right," said Saunders; "and to-morrow--Oh, well, by to-morrow we shall
have forgotten all about this beastly thing."

If when the morrow came they had not forgotten, it was certainly true
that at the end of the week they were able to tell a very vivid ghost
story at the little supper Eustace gave on Hallow E'en.

"You don't want us to believe that it's true, Mr. Borlsover? How
perfectly awful!"

"I'll take my oath on it, and so would Saunders here; wouldn't you, old
chap?"

"Any number of oaths," said Saunders. "It was a long thin hand, you
know, and it gripped me just like that."

"Don't, Mr. Saunders! Don't! How per