ard the open door.

In that breathless suspense of listening we stood awhile; then:

"There it is again!" whispered Smith, tensely.

The ringing of bells was repeated, and seemingly much nearer to us; in
fact it appeared to come from somewhere above, up near the ceiling of
the room in which we stood. Simultaneously, we looked up, then Smith
laughed, shortly.

"Instinctive, I suppose," he snapped; "but what do we expect to see in
the air?"

The musical sound now grew in volume; the first tiny peal seemed to be
reinforced by others and by others again, until the air around about us
was filled with the pealings of these invisible bell-ringers.

Although, as I have said, the sound was rather musical than horrible, it
was, on the other hand, so utterly unaccountable as to touch the
supreme heights of the uncanny. I could not doubt that our presence had
attracted these unseen ringers to the room in which we stood, and I knew
quite well that I was growing pale. This was the room in which at least
one unhappy occupant of the Gables had died of fear. I recognized the
fact that if this mere overture were going to affect my nerves to such
an extent, I could not hope to survive the ordeal of the night; a great
effort was called for. I emptied my glass at a gulp, and stared across
the table at Nayland Smith with a sort of defiance. He was standing
very upright and motionless, but his eyes were turning right and left,
searching every visible corner of the big room.

"Good!" he said in a very low voice. "The terrorizing power of the
Unknown is boundless, but we must not get in the grip of panic, or we
could not hope to remain in this house ten minutes."

I nodded without speaking. Then Smith, to my amazement, suddenly began
to speak in a loud voice, a marked contrast to that, almost a whisper,
in which he had spoken formerly.

"My dear Pearce," he cried, "do you hear the ringing of bells?"

Clearly the latter words were spoken for the benefit of the unseen
intelligence controlling these manifestations; and although I regarded
such finesse as somewhat wasted, I followed my friend's lead and replied
in a voice as loud as his own:

"Distinctly, Professor!"

Silence followed my words, a silence in which both stood watchful and
listening. Then, very faintly, I seemed to detect the silvern ringing
receding away through distant rooms. Finally it became inaudible, and
in the stillness of the Gables I could distinctly hear my com