lf human, half the note of some strange instrument made and played
upon by underground goblins of old country folk's tales. It rose to
almost a shriek at its loudest pitch, and then died away into a sort of
crooning growl. So weird and terrifying was it in that subterranean
region, that, though past caring for most things, whether good or ill,
I felt the hair bristle on my head.

Woodley was a brave man, as I had reason to know, but I felt his arm
shaking as I clutched it with my hand.

"Hullo!--hullo, there!" he cried, in a hoarse, quavering voice which no
friend of his could have recognized. "Who are you, and what are you
doing?"

Once more there was no reply. Another few moments of that suspense,
and I verily believe I should have turned and rushed back along the way
we had come, regardless whether I ended up by pitching head first down
the shaft into the cavern beneath. Fortunately, George possessed a
large stock of that dogged resolution peculiar to a Briton, which
desperate circumstances tend only to harden; and now, recovering from
the shock which the sound had given him, I believe he was ready to deal
with a whole churchyardful of ghosts.

"Strike a light, Master Eden," he said shortly, "and I'll find the
lamp."

Owing partly to the fright, and partly to my dazed condition, I struck
a good many blows with the steel before I had a spark glowing in the
tinder. In the meantime Woodley had recovered the lamp, and
replenished the oil which had been spilt by pouring out a fresh supply
from the bottle in his pocket. Just as we got the wick to burn,
another weird, high-pitched howl rang through the darkness, continued
for perhaps half a minute, and then ceased; but this time George
remained undaunted.

"You carry the lamp, sir," he said. "Hold it well up, and I'll go in
front."

He took something from his pocket, and I knew from the sharp click that
he had cocked the pistol.

What we expected to see it would be hard to say. Certainly not the
obstacle which, a few paces further on, we found blocking our path.
This was nothing more or less than a heavy wooden door, dark with age
like the beams of the tunnel, and studded with rusty iron nails. We
stopped, and stood staring at it in the faint glimmer of our feeble
lamp. What, then, could have become of the creature--goblin or
human--that had terrified us with its unearthly music? Could it have
retreated before our advance, and be now lying in wait for