Then I saw the thing. There wasn't a shadow of doubt about it. I saw the little old man open the door. The next moment he started back. Then he thrust forward with his body, and I could see him bearing against something. He swayed, physically, as a man sways when he is wrestling. A second after he was free.
"Well, you've seen it—what do you think of it?" he said presently, as I followed him into the hall. His face had turned cloudy whitish grey.
I laughed, but the full horror of it had soaked into me.
I followed my host up a series of stairs. He carried a candlestick, with his arm extended, so as to give me a guiding light. The old house was dim and chilly in its barrenness. He stopped at a door in a long, narrow corridor and set the candlestick down.
"This is your room."
With a gentle bow and a kindly smile he opened the door for me.
"Good-night, sir. Can you see your way down?" I asked.
"I have a candle in my pocket."
He lit it at mine. Another quiet, friendly smile, and I watched him out of sight along the corridor.