What was that noise--like the scratching of fingernails against wood? Whose voice called me? Did it come from the bed? I spun round like a teetotum.
It was merely a delusion. It must have been. The bed was unoccupied. Its emptiness affected me more than anything which had gone before. It exercised on me so singular a fascination that I continued to stare at it as if unable to take my eyes away.
What was that noise--like the scratching of a man's nails against wood? The hearse must have long since got out of the street. If it had a fast pair of horses it was probably already half-way to the station. It could not come from the bed.
When--I do not know how long afterwards--I went down the stairs, feeling as if a century had elapsed since I went up them, the landlord stopped me to express a hope that everything had been done to my satisfaction.
[BOOK II.--THE LOST HUSBAND]
THE STORY IS CONTINUED BY MRS. JAMES MERRETT
CHAPTER XI
[AN ENCOUNTER IN PICCADILLY]
I couldn't make it out. Nor could Mr. FitzHoward.
'Well,' said Mr. FitzHoward to me, 'your governor certainly is a caution'--which I was far from denying it--'but this beats anything; it does that.'