“No, but I felt him. There’s another queer thing too; the chimney of the brick-kiln is smoking.”
Jack looked out of the window. It was nearly dark but the wreathing smoke could just be seen.
“So it is,” he said, “fat, greasy smoke. I think I’ll go up and see what’s on. Come too?”
“I think not,” I said.
“Are you frightened? It isn’t worth while. Besides, it is so tremendously interesting.”
Jack came back from his little expedition still interested. He had found nothing stirring at the kiln, but though it was then nearly dark the interior was faintly luminous, and against the black of the sky he could see a wisp of thick white smoke floating northwards. But for the rest of the evening we neither heard nor saw anything of abnormal import, and the next day ran a course of undisturbed hours. Then suddenly a hellish activity was manifested.
That night, while I was undressing for bed, I heard a bell ring furiously, and I thought I heard a shout also. I guessed where the ring came from, since Franklyn and his wife had long ago gone to bed, and went straight to Jack’s room. But as I tapped at the door I heard his voice from inside calling loud to me. “Take care,” it said, “he’s close to the door.”
A sudden qualm of blank fear took hold of me, but mastering it as best I could, I opened the door to enter, and once again something pushed softly by me, though I saw nothing.
Jack was standing by his bed, half-undressed. I saw him wipe his forehead with the back of his hand.
“He’s been here again,” he said. “I was standing just here, a minute ago, when I found him close by me. He came out of the inner room, I think. Did you see what he had in his hand?”