There was utter silence, except for the breathing of those present. The room seemed to grow dark, and the air became oppressive. Those round the table looked at each other with horror and suspicion in their eyes, and a vague shadowy something seemed to be gathering in the room.
Ena shuddered. Where was her lover? Why was he not there of all people, when he had actually been accused of the crime?
Was there something in the Curse after all, and some unseen visitant hovering about them?
She could bear it no longer, and in a strained voice asked:
“Where is Mr. Halley, Mr. Sinclair, and why is he not here?”
“Mr. Halley does not exist,” then hastily as he saw the girl’s face. “Don’t be alarmed, Miss Sefton, he never did exist.”
Doubts as to Sinclair’s sanity began to fill the minds of the others.
“But why all this mystery, sir? If you know all about it, why not tell us?” asked Fletcher.
“I did not say I knew all about it. Well as no one seems disposed to speak, we had better get on with the story, eh Lord Reckavile?” He turned to the old man beside him.
An exclamation of astonishment, mixed with superstitious terror came to those present. Giles reeled and turned ashen, while the breath soughed between his teeth, and his eyes bulged from his head. He was standing behind the old man. Sinclair saw him.