But the other shook his head. "It's all beyond me quite," he said, with a wry smile. "The first outbreak was nothing—nothing compared to this." The continuous sound of humming which filled the hall, making the air vibrate oddly, grew louder. Devonham seized his friend's arm.
"Listen!" he whispered. "You hear that?"
"I heard it outside in the street," Fillery said. "What is it?"
Devonham glared at him. "God knows," he said, "I don't. He's been doing it, on and off, for a couple of hours. It began the moment you left, it seems. They're all about him—these vibrations, I mean. He does it with his whole body somehow. And"—he hesitated—"there's meaning in it of some kind. Results, I mean," he jerked out with an effort.
"Visible?" came the gentle question.
Devonham started. "How did you know?" There was a thrust of intense curiosity in the eyes.
"I've had a similar experience myself, Paul. You opened the front door in the middle of it. The figures——"
"You saw figures?" Devonham looked thunderstruck. In his heart was obviously a touch of panic.
As the two men stood gazing into each other's eyes a moment silently, the sound about them increased again, rising and falling, its great separate rhythmical waves almost distinguishable. In Fillery's mind rose patterns, outlines, forms of flowers, spirals, circles....
"He knows you're in the house," said Devonham in a curious voice, relieved apparently no answer came to his question. "Better come upstairs at once and see him." But he did not turn to lead the way. "That's not auditory hallucination, Edward, whatever else it is!" He was still clinging to the rock, but the rock was crumbling beneath his desperate touch. Space yawned below him.