It was proper for Nick to follow, for the nearest way to Gilder's room led in that direction.
It was exactly midnight when they opened the door of the old dining-hall. A cool breath of air swept out upon them, for the thick stone walls of this part of the house resisted the hot weather, and this room had been kept closed.
The colonel shivered slightly in the draught.
He paused on the threshold for a moment, and looked into the room. It was lighted—except for the feeble ray from the lamp—only by the faint moonlight which found its way in through the hall and narrow windows, partly overgrown with clinging vines.
The whole party entered. The colonel set his lamp upon the sideboard.
He turned to speak to the supposed Gilder, probably with the intention of sending him at once to his room.
But at that moment the lamp suddenly went out.
With a low cry the colonel sprang toward it. The lamp was not there.
It had been removed. The room was almost totally dark.
The colonel lit a match. There was no sign of the lamp. It had utterly vanished.