sense of vague alarm that I could in no way account for. I went over to
the window, and saw a man standing below waiting for the door to be
opened. His shoulders were broad, his top-hat glossy, and his overcoat
fitted beautifully round the collar. All this I could see, but no more.
Presently the door opened, and the shock to my nerves was unmistakable
when I heard a man's voice ask, "Is Mr. ---- still here?" mentioning my
name. I could not catch the answer, but it could only have been in the
affirmative, for the man entered the hall and the door shut to behind
him. But I waited in vain for the sound of his steps on the stairs.
There was no sound of any kind. It seemed to me so strange that I opened
my door and looked out. No one was anywhere to be seen. I walked across
the narrow landing, and looked through the window that commands the
whole length of the alley. There was no sign of a human being, coming or
going. The lane was deserted. Then I deliberately walked downstairs into
the kitchen, and asked the gray-faced landlady if a gentleman had just
that minute called for me.

The answer, given with an odd, weary sort of smile, was "No!"

* * * * *

Dec. 1.--I feel genuinely alarmed and uneasy over the state of my
nerves. Dreams are dreams, but never before have I had dreams in broad
daylight.

I am looking forward very much to Chapter's arrival. He is a capital
fellow, vigorous, healthy, with no nerves, and even less imagination;
and he has L2000 a year into the bargain. Periodically he makes me
offers--the last was to travel round the world with him as secretary,
which was a delicate way of paying my expenses and giving me some
pocket-money--offers, however, which I invariably decline. I prefer
to keep his friendship. Women could not come between us; money
might--therefore I give it no opportunity. Chapter always laughed at
what he called my "fancies," being himself possessed only of that
thin-blooded quality of imagination which is ever associated with the
prosaic-minded man. Yet, if taunted with this obvious lack, his wrath is
deeply stirred. His psychology is that of the crass materialist--always
a rather funny article. It will afford me genuine relief, none the less,
to hear the cold judgment his mind will have to pass upon the story of
this house as I shall have it to tell.

* * * * *

Dec. 2.--The strangest part of it all I have not referred to i