drive me
raving mad. Somewhere there must be a natural explanation; it was only a
question of finding it. Among other things it occurred to me that
someone, for reason unknown, might be playing a series of practical
jokes upon me, but it was hard to believe a hoax of such malignant and
serious intent. Besides, it did not explain the death of Price which, I
felt more and more convinced, was in some way connected with the bronze
statue. I felt it would be my own fault if I did not get some part of
the mystery cleared up soon. It was plain, too, that I must virtually
act alone. The first thing was to find a helper, and after casting about
me I thought of a member of my company, John Travers, who had lost two
fingers at Charleroi at the first stage of the war. He was a giant in
stature, his muscular force would have warranted him in contesting a
fall or two with a full-grown lion.

"I wrote to Travers the same evening and his answer came a couple of
days later, saying that he would be down by the first train that he
could catch. I said nothing in my letter about the bronze statue, but
merely mentioned that I feared a gang of thieves had marked my house
down, and I wanted his help to guard the place for a week or so.

"Well, Travers arrived. Armed with two new service rifles, we each in
turn kept watch over the statue, agreeing that a shot out of the window
should warn the other, were any sudden danger to arise.

"On the second night of our vigil I retired to bed hugely sleepy. I had
left Travers on guard in the library. He was seated in an armchair under
my Albertus Magnus, with his rifle over his knees. I did not take off my
clothes, but threw myself, dressed as I was, upon the bed. Determining
to make sure of some rest I took a stiff glass of hot brandy. I slept--I
could scarcely help sleeping--but not for long, for I suddenly awoke
from a tumultuous dream, my limbs atremble, and my forehead sticky with
cold sweat. It seemed as though somebody was calling my name from a vast
distance. The room was full of whisperings and moanings and strange
uncanny things. Something was evidently at work in my sub-consciousness.
Nothing was wrong with Travers or I should have heard the report of his
rifle. Yet something _was_ wrong! The conviction grew stronger and
stronger within me. Then came the faint sound of rattling at the brass
knob, and with sudden horror I saw the door open a couple of inches. A
pause of some seconds and it w