, so I refrained.

"Last night, when the paper said it was going to storm, I sent Euphemia
to the roof to bring the rugs in. Eliza had slipped out, although it was
her evening in. Euphemia went up to the roof--it was eleven o'clock--and
soon I heard her running down-stairs crying. When she got to my room she
just folded up on the floor. She said there was a black figure sitting
on the parapet of the house next door--the empty house--and that when
she appeared it rose and waved long black arms at her and spit like a
cat."

I had finished my dinner and was lighting a cigarette. "If there was any
one up there, which I doubt, they probably sneezed," I suggested. "But
if you feel uneasy, I'll take a look around the roof to-night before
I turn in. As far as Euphemia goes, I wouldn't be uneasy about
her--doesn't she always have an attack of some sort when Eliza rings in
an extra evening on her?"

So I made a superficial examination of the window locks that night,
visiting parts of the house that I had not seen since I bought it. Then
I went to the roof. Evidently it had not been intended for any purpose
save to cover the house, for unlike the houses around, there was no
staircase. A ladder and a trap-door led to it, and it required some nice
balancing on my part to get up with my useless arm. I made it, however,
and found this unexplored part of my domain rather attractive. It was
cooler than down-stairs, and I sat on the brick parapet and smoked my
final cigarette. The roof of the empty house adjoined mine along the
back wing, but investigation showed that the trap-door across the low
dividing wall was bolted underneath.

There was nothing out of the ordinary anywhere, and so I assured
Mrs. Klopton. Needless to say, I did not tell her that I had left the
trap-door open, to see if it would improve the temperature of the house.
I went to bed at midnight, merely because there was nothing else to do.
I turned on the night lamp at the head of my bed, and picked up a volume
of Shaw at random (it was Arms and the Man, and I remember thinking
grimly that I was a good bit of a chocolate cream soldier myself),
and prepared to go to sleep. Shaw always puts me to sleep. I have
no apologies to make for what occurred that night, and not even an
explanation that I am sure of. I did a foolish thing under impulse, and
I have not been sorry.

It was something after two when the door-bell rang. It rang quickly,
twice. I got up drowsily, f