ing, and
went on his way.

For the rest of the day the hand was uppermost in his
thoughts--nothing had ever fascinated him so much. He sat pondering
over it the whole evening, and bedtime found him still examining
it--examining it upstairs in his room by candlelight. He had a hazy
recollection that some clock had struck twelve, and he was beginning
to feel that it was about time to retire, when, in the mirror opposite
him, he caught sight of the door--it was open.

"By Jove! that's odd!" he said to himself. "I could have sworn I shut
and bolted it." To make sure, he turned round--the door was closed.
"An optical delusion," he murmured; "I will try again."

He looked into the mirror--the door reflected in it was--open. Utterly
at a loss to know how to explain the phenomenon, he leaned forward in
his seat to examine the glass more carefully, and as he did so he
gave a start. On the threshold of the doorway was a shadow--black and
bulbous. A cold shiver ran down Mr. Vance's spine, and just for a
moment he felt afraid, terribly afraid; but he quickly composed
himself--it was nothing but an illusion--there was no shadow there in
reality--he had only to turn round, and the thing would be gone. It
was amusing--entertaining. He would wait and see what happened.

The shadow moved. It moved slowly through the air like some huge
spider, or odd-shaped bird. He would not acknowledge that there was
anything sinister about it--only something droll--excruciatingly droll.
Yet it did not make him laugh. When it had drawn a little nearer, he
tried to diagnose it, to discover its material counterpart in one of
the objects around him; but he was obliged to acknowledge his attempts
were failures--there was nothing in the room in the least degree like
it. A vague feeling of uneasiness gradually crept over him--was the
thing the shadow of something with which he was familiar, but could not
just then recall to mind--something he feared--something that was
sinister? He struggled against the idea, he dismissed it as absurd; but
it returned--returned, and took deeper root as the shadow drew nearer.
He wished the house was not quite so silent--that he could hear some
indication of life--anything--anything for companionship, and to rid
him of the oppressive, the very oppressive, sense of loneliness and
isolation.

Again a thrill of terror ran through him.

"Look here!" he exclaimed aloud, glad to hear the sound of his own
voice. "Look here!