a few moments we were all
silent.

"I know I funked," he continued huskily. "But when the wife came to
the head of the stairs and whispered to me: 'There it is again. What
in heaven's name can it be'--I started to unbolt the door. The
knocking had stopped. Everything was very still. I heard Mary--HIS
widow--sobbing, upstairs; that was all. I opened the door, a little
bit at a time."

Pausing again, he cleared his throat, and went on:

"It was a bright night, and there was no one there--not a soul. But
somewhere down the lane, as I looked out into the porch, I heard most
awful groans! They got fainter and fainter. Then--I could have sworn
I heard SOMEONE LAUGHING! My nerves cracked up at that; and I shut the
door again."

The narration of his weird experience revived something of the natural
fear which it had occasioned. He raised his glass, with unsteady hand,
and drained it.

Smith struck a match and relighted his pipe. He began to pace the room
again. His eyes were literally on fire.

"Would it be possible to get Mrs. Weymouth out of the house before
to-night? Remove her to your place, for instance?" he asked abruptly.

Weymouth looked up in surprise.

"She seems to be in a very low state," he replied. He glanced at me.
"Perhaps Dr. Petrie would give us an opinion?"

"I will come and see her," I said. "But what is your idea, Smith?"

"I want to hear that knocking!" he rapped. "But in what I may see fit
to do I must not be handicapped by the presence of a sick woman."

"Her condition at any rate will admit of our administering an opiate,"
I suggested. "That would meet the situation?"

"Good!" cried Smith. He was intensely excited now. "I rely upon you
to arrange something, Petrie. Mr. Weymouth"--he turned to our
visitor--"I shall be with you this evening not later than twelve
o'clock."

Weymouth appeared to be greatly relieved. I asked him to wait whilst I
prepared a draught for the patient. When he was gone:

"What do you think this knocking means, Smith?" I asked.

He tapped out his pipe on the side of the grate and began with nervous
energy to refill it again from the dilapidated pouch.

"I dare not tell you what I hope, Petrie," he replied--"nor what I
fear."

CHAPTER XXIX

DUSK was falling when we made our way in the direction of Maple
Cottage. Nayland Smith appeared to be keenly interested in the
character of the district. A high and ancient wall bordered th