“No radio after eight o’clock. It disturbs Professor Whitburn. All right before then.”
Before Harry could reply, the man was gone. Harry went back to the table; then, still ill-disposed toward Stokes because of his undiplomatic manner, Harry laid his work aside, and strolled to the door that led outside.
PROFESSOR WHITBURN had suggested that he remain in the room and work during the evening. There had been no direct order not to go outside.
At that particular moment, Harry would not have worried about disobeying instructions. So he took the suggestion with reservations, and went out into the night.
The wind was sighing through the trees. A slight drizzle had arrived; and the air was chilly. Nevertheless, Harry went down the path toward the lake. He stumbled a bit on the path; regained his footing; and looked back toward the house. The building was a shapeless mass of black.
Even the tower was invisible in the night. But as Harry’s eyes went upward, he saw something that startled him. First a little twinkle; like a firefly. That itself was not astonishing; but it was followed by a truly uncanny phenomenon.
A strange, ghostlike shape came flitting from the tower; it seemed to hover over the trees. Then the phantom form reappeared, like some grim spirit from the world beyond, seeking mortal prey.
The weird form reached the spot where Harry knew the house must be. Then it disappeared.
Harry watched intently. He began to feel a creepy sensation. Then he imagined that some one was in back of him. He turned, and his eyes were directed toward the lake.
Off above the water he detected a twinkle — that same light that appeared like a firefly. It came again — closer. Then it seemed high above, as though rising before a downward swoop.