“I ask you again, how should I know?” replied Caroline. “I see it there like you. How should I know any more than you?”
“It MUST be something in the room,” said Mrs. Brigham, staring wildly around.
“We moved everything in the room the first night it came,” said
Rebecca; “it is not anything in the room.”
Caroline turned upon her with a sort of fury. “Of course it is something in the room,” said she. “How you act! What do you mean by talking so? Of course it is something in the room.”
“Of course, it is,” agreed Mrs. Brigham, looking at Caroline suspiciously. “Of course it must be. It is only a coincidence. It just happens so. Perhaps it is that fold of the window curtain that makes it. It must be something in the room.”
“It is not anything in the room,” repeated Rebecca with obstinate horror.
The door opened suddenly and Henry Glynn entered. He began to speak, then his eyes followed the direction of the others’. He stood stock still staring at the shadow on the wall. It was life size and stretched across the white parallelogram of a door, half across the wall space on which the picture hung.
“What is that?” he demanded in a strange voice.
“It must be due to something in the room, Mrs. Brigham said faintly.
“It is not due to anything in the room,” said Rebecca again with the shrill insistency of terror.