“There’s a policeman’s lantern,” panted my companion. “They’ll attempt nothing, now!”
I gulped down the stiff brandy-and-soda, then glanced across to where Nayland Smith lay extended in the long, cane chair.
“Perhaps you will explain,” I said, “for what purpose you submitted me to that ordeal. If you proposed to correct my skepticism concerning supernatural manifestations, you have succeeded.”
“Yes,” said my companion, musingly, “they are devilishly clever; but we knew that already.”
I stared at him, fatuously.
“Have you ever known me to waste my time when there was important work to do?” he continued. “Do you seriously believe that my ghost-hunting was undertaken for amusement? Really, Petrie, although you are very fond of assuring me that I need a holiday, I think the shoe is on the other foot!”
From the pocket of his dressing-gown, he took out a piece of silk fringe which had apparently been torn from a scarf, and rolling it into a ball, tossed it across to me.
“Smell!” he snapped.
I did as he directed—and gave a great start. The silk exhaled a faint perfume, but its effect upon me was as though some one had cried aloud:—