I caught his arm. "Listen, Bob."
With our ears close to the door, we both caught the sound of a stealthy movement below.
"There it is," he whispered, and I felt his arm tremble in my grasp. A moment afterward he said, "We are trapped."
"Don't lose your nerve," I responded, in as cheerful a tone as I could command; "we must see it through, now we are here. I am sorry I brought you, Bob; the next time I come, I will come alone."
"Indeed you shall not, Ned," he replied, "and I am ashamed of my weakness. I was prepared for something of the sort, and here am I showing the white feather. I am all right now, old fellow."
"Bravo! Take your pistol; I brought a weapon with me."
It was a thick flat strip of iron, tapered at one end, which I used at home to open cases, and which, unknown to my wife, I had secreted about me. Bob nodded as I produced it.
"A formidable weapon," he said, "but useless against apparitions; we may have more formidable foes to contend with, however, and it is as well to be provided. It would be foolhardy to leave the room. We should have to carry a candle, and it might be dashed from our hands; the darkness would be horrible. We are safer where we are."
"We will not go out yet, Bob. The sound has ceased. Take a nip of brandy, and give me one."
This dialogue was carried on at intervals. We paused in the middle of sentences, and finished them as though it was our customary method of pursuing a conversation. In the fever of our senses we lost sight of the natural order of things, and the shadows created by the flickering light appeared to be in harmony with the position in which we were placed. The silence--as dread in its mysterious possibilities as threatening sounds would have been--continuing, Bob rekindled the fire, and we remained quiescent for an hour and more. Bob looked at his watch.