There is also an actual physical—or, if you choose, psychical connection between what is seen, what has just missed being seen by an infinite fraction of time, and what one has imagined one has just seen, and between these all the scientists of all the ages have not been able to formulate a real distinction. One's senses, after all, remain the best guides.
"I just missed seeing something going through that door," whispered Carrick. It is noticeable, too, that he had said "something" and not "some one." The gloomy cells, centuries old, the damp memories of the dungeons still clinging to the walls, together with this weird presence which eluded their eyes before they could behold it, might well arouse the superstitions of firmer minds than the Cockney's.
They were approaching the cell in which they had been placed. At last there was a perfectly appreciable sound. It was a fumbling, as of some one in the darkness, making hasty efforts to get a key in a lock. Carter, now bent on discovery, made a rush into the abysmal darkness. He could see—nothing!
Still he felt that he and Carrick, who had joined him, were not the only occupants of the room.
Along the hall could be heard the unmistakable sound of approaching steps.
"Quite a select party, sir," remarked Carrick in comment, while Carter still tried to pierce the gloom to establish the identity of the invisible visitant.
"About three," replied Carter.
The sounds stopped directly opposite their door. There was a grating of a key against the lock and the door swung open.