But the ground-floor was as dark as the upper storey. Mrs. Bosanquet went cautiously downstairs with one hand on the baluster-rail, and the other holding her candle up. The stairs creaked annoyingly, and in the stillness each creak sounded abnormally loud. Mrs. Bosanquet murmured: 'Tut-tut!" to herself, and hoped that Celia would not be awakened by the noise.
The library door was ajar; she pushed it open, and went in. The biscuit-tin, she remembered, stood on a small table by the door, and she peered for it, blinking. Yes, there it was. She set the candle down and opened it, and slipped two of the biscuits into the pocket of her dressing-gown. She had quite recovered from her rather shame-faced feeling of trepidation, for no skulls had bounced at her feet, or anything else of such a disturbing nature. She picked up the candle again, and turned to the bookshelves that ran along the wall opposite the fireplace. It was very hard to see far by the light of one candle, and she knocked her shin on a chair as she moved across the room.
The difficulty was to find anything one wanted to read. She held the candle close up to the row of books, and slowly edged along in front of the shelves, surveying a most unpromising selection of titles. "Meditations on Mortality," read Mrs. Bosanquet. "Dear me, how gloomy. The Sermons of Dr Brimley. That might send me to sleep, but I really don't think… Tyndall on Light… Ah, this is better!" She came opposite a collection of novels, and reached up a hand to pull one down from the shelf. Then, just as her fingers had half-pulled the volume from its place an unaccountable feeling of dread seized her, and she stayed quite still, straining her ears to catch the least sound. All she could hear was the beating of her own heart, but it did not reassure her. Mrs. Bosanquet, who did not believe in nerves, knew that something was in the room with her.
"It's nonsense," she told herself. "Of course there isn't. Of course there isn't!" She forced herself to draw the book out from its place, but her unreasoning conviction grew. It seemed as though she dared not move or look round, but she knew that was absurd. "I've got to turn round," she thought. "It's all nonsense. There's nothing here. I can't stand like this all night. I must turn round."
Fearfully she began to edge towards the door. She found that it had become almost impossible to breathe, and realised that her terror was growing.
"It's always worse if one turns one's back on things," Mrs. Bosanquet thought. "Suppose it crept up behind me? Suppose I felt a hand touching me?"
The leap of her heart was choking her; she felt as though she might faint if she went on like this. She stopped, and very cautiously peered over her shoulder. There was nothing. Yet what was that vague, dark figure by the fireplace? Only the tall-backed arm-chair, of course. She was so sure of it that she took a step towards it, and lifted her candle to see more clearly.
The dark shape grew distinct in the tiny light. A cowled figure was standing motionless by the fireplace, and through the slits in the cowl two glittering eyes were fixed upon Mrs. Bosanquet. She stood as though paralysed, and even as she stared at it the figure moved, and glided towards her with one menacing hand stretched out like the talon of a bird of prey.
The spell broke. For the first time in her life Mrs. Bosanquet gave a wild, shrill scream, and crumpled up in a dead faint on the floor.