one of the compartments, and was brought in here, and
laid down on this floor between us."

Involuntarily, I pushed my chair back, as I looked from the boards at
which he pointed, to himself.

"True, sir. True. Precisely as it happened, so I tell it you."

I could think of nothing to say, to any purpose, and my mouth was very
dry. The wind and the wires took up the story with a long lamenting
wail.

He resumed. "Now, sir, mark this, and judge how my mind is troubled.
The spectre came back, a week ago. Ever since, it has been there, now
and again, by fits and starts."

"At the light?"

"At the Danger-light."

"What does it seem to do?"

He repeated, if possible with increased passion and vehemence, that
former gesticulation of "For God's sake clear the way!"

Then, he went on. "I have no peace or rest for it. It calls to me, for
many minutes together, in an agonised manner, 'Below there! Look out!
Look out!' It stands waving to me. It rings my little bell--"

I caught at that. "Did it ring your bell yesterday evening when I was
here, and you went to the door?"

"Twice."

"Why, see," said I, "how your imagination misleads you. My eyes were on
the bell, and my ears were open to the bell, and if I am a living man, it
did NOT ring at those times. No, nor at any other time, except when it
was rung in the natural course of physical things by the station
communicating with you."

He shook his head. "I have never made a mistake as to that, yet, sir. I
have never confused the spectre's ring with the man's. The ghost's ring
is a strange vibration in the bell that it derives from nothing else, and
I have not asserted that the bell stirs to the eye. I don't wonder that
you failed to hear it. But _I_ heard it."

"And did the spectre seem to be there, when you looked out?"

"It WAS there."

"Both times?"

He repeated firmly: "Both times."

"Will you come to the door with me, and look for it now?"

He bit his under-lip as though he were somewhat unwilling, but arose. I
opened the door, and stood on the step, while he stood in the doorway.
There, was the Danger-light. There, was the dismal mouth of the tunnel.
There, were the high wet stone walls of the cutting. There, were the
stars above them.

"Do you see it?" I asked him, taking particular note of his face. His
eyes were prominent and strained; but not very much more so, perhaps,
than my own had been when I had directed them earnestl