They were standing in a wide hall-way； on their left was theopen door of a spacious dining-room， and in front the hall ran，ever narrowing， into a long， dark passage that led apparently tothe top of the kitchen stairs. The broad uncarpeted staircaserosein a sweep before them， everywhere draped in shadows， exceptfor a single spot about half-way up where the moonlight camein through the window and fell on a bright patch on the boards.
This shaft of light shed a faint radiance above and below it，lending to the objects within its reach a misty outline thatwas infinitely more suggestive and ghostly than completedarkness. Filtered moonlight always seems to paint faces onthe surrounding gloom， and as Shorthouse peered up into thewell of darkness and thought of the countless empty rooms andpassages in the upper part of the old house， he caught himselflonging again for the safety of the moonlit square， or thecosy， bright drawing-room they had left an hour before. Thenrealising that these thoughts were dangerous， he thrust themaway again and summoned all his energy for concentration onthe present.
“Aunt Julia，” he said aloud， severely， “we must now gothrough the house from top to bottom and make a thoroughsearch.”
The echoes of his voice died away slowly all over thebuilding， and in the intense silence that followed he turned tolook at her. In the candle-light he saw that her face was alreadyghastly pale； but she dropped his arm for a moment and said ina whisper， stepping close in front of him—
“I agree. We must be sure there’s no one hiding. That’s thefirst thing.”
She spoke with evident effort， and he looked at her withadmiration.
“You feel quite sure of yourself？ It’s not too late—”
“I think so，” she whispered， her eyes shifting nervouslytoward the shadows behind. “Quite sure， only one thing—”
“What’s that？”
“You must never leave me alone for an instant.”
“As long as you understand that any sound or appearancemust be investigated at once， for to hesitate means to admitfear. That is fatal.”
“Agreed，” she said， a little shakily， after a moment’shesitation. “I’ll try—”
Arm in arm， Shorthouse holding the dripping candle andthe stick， while his aunt carried the cloak over her shoulders，figures of utter comedy to all but themselves， they began asystematic search.
Stealthily， walking on tip-toe and shading the candle lest itshould betray their presence through the shutterless windows，they went first into the big dining-room. There was not a stickof furniture tobe seen. Bare walls， ugly mantel-pieces andempty grates stared at them. Everything， they felt， resentedtheir intrusion， watching them， as it were， with veiled eyes；whispers followed them； shadows flitted noiselessly to rightand left； something seemed ever at their back， watching，waiting an opportunity to do them injury. There was theinevitable sense that operations which went on when the roomwas empty had been temporarily suspended till they werewell out of the way again. The whole dark interior of the oldbuilding seemed to become a malignant Presence that rose up，warning them to desist and mind their own business； everymoment the strain on the nerves increased.
Out of the gloomy dining-room they passed through largefolding doors into a sort of library or smoking-room， wraptequally in silence， darkness， and dust； and from this theyregained the hall near the top of the back stairs.
Here a pitch black tunnel opened before them into the lowerregions， and—it must be confessed—they hesitated. But onlyfor a minute. With the worst of the night still to come it wasessential to turn from nothing. Aunt Julia stumbled at the topstep of the dark descent， ill lit by the flickeringcandle， and evenShorthouse felt at least half the decision go out of his legs.
“Come on！” he said peremptorily， and his voice ran on andlost itself in the dark， empty spaces below.
“I’m coming，” she faltered， catching his arm with unnecessaryviolence.
They went a little unsteadily down the stone steps， a cold，damp air meeting them in the face， close and mal-odorous.
The kitchen， into which the stairs led along a narrow passage，was large， with a lofty ceiling. Several doors opened out ofit—some into cupboards with empty jars still standing on theshelves， and others into horrible little ghostly back offices，each colder and less inviting than the last. Black beetlesscurried over the floor， and once， when they knocked againsta deal table standing in a corner， something about the size of acat jumped down with a rush and fled， scampering across thestone floor into the darkness. Everywhere there was a sense ofrecent occupation， an impression of sadness and gloom.
Leaving the main kitchen， they next went towards thescullery. The door was standing ajar， and as they pushed itopen to its full extent Aunt Julia uttered a piercing scream，which she instantlytried to stifle by placing her hand over hermouth. For a second Shorthouse stood stock-still， catching hisbreath. He felt as if his spine had suddenly become hollow andsomeone had filled it with particles of ice.
Facing them， directly in their way between the doorposts，stood the figure of a woman. She had dishevelled hair andwildly staring eyes， and her face was terrified and white asdeath.
She stood there motionless for the space of a single second.
Then the candle flickered and she was gone—gone utterly—and the door framed nothing but empty darkness.
“Only the beastly jumping candle-light，” he said quickly，in a voice that sounded like someone else’s and was only halfunder control. “Come on， aunt. There’s nothing there.”