Suddenly just as she was about to spring out of bed a flash of light on the blank wall opposite her bed caught her attention and glancing up she was horrified to see vividly outlined there the scene of Tuesday morning—the large library chair with the dead man sitting with head thrown back, and once again she gazed in breathless suspense straight into the man’s wide open staring eyes.
Evelyn sat spell-bound; then shuddering she covered her eyes with her hands and cowered back. When she looked up again the wall opposite was blank. Closing her eyes she pressed the lids down with her finger-tips and kept them so for at least ten minutes. The next time she looked at the wall the space was still blank, and steadying her shaken nerves with the thought that her imagination was running away with her, she started to rise when before her eyes appeared a cord, exaggerated in size against the blank wall; suspended apparently by unknown, unseen means in mid-air, it twined about like some uncanny snake, but even as it twisted to and fro, Evelyn recognized the peculiar style of the cord—she had seen it three times before: taken from the dead man’s pocket, hanging from the open parcel in her hand two days later, and given to her the next afternoon by Dan Maynard.
With desperate fingers Evelyn groped under her pillow for the silver whistle—she would not stay another minute alone; she must tell some one of her hallucination before she went entirely out of her head. With eyes averted from the opposite wall, she twisted about in bed until the missing whistle turned up under her left elbow.
Blowing the whistle was not as simple a business as she had anticipated; her mouth was dry and parched and such breath as she had in her body only raised a feeble pipe; but in desperation she persevered. She was bathed in perspiration before a sound of footsteps brought unspeakable relief.
“Hurry, hurry,” she gasped, as a white-robed figure stepped just inside her room. “Come nearer. Look!” and with eyes averted she pointed to the opposite wall.
She was conscious of the figure’s approach at her hoarse whisper, but the continued silence snapped her last remnant of self-control.
“Tell me you see it,” she begged piteously. “The string, Mrs. Ward; you see the string!” and she caught the woman and swung her about, imploring eyes upraised—the woman who faced her was not the housekeeper, but her mother.
“Be calm, Evelyn,” she said, stroking the girl’s hot head. “What is the meaning of this?”
“Can’t you see the string on the wall?” asked Evelyn clinging to her.
Mrs. Burnham looked in the direction Evelyn pointed.