He dragged her forward. With a clattering of feet and agreat appearance of boldness they went on， but over his bodythe skin moved as if crawling ants covered it， and he knewby the weight on his arm that he was supplying the force oflocomotion for two. The scullery was cold， bare， and empty；more like a large prison cell than anything else. They wentround it， tried the door into the yard， and the windows， butfound them all fastened securely. His aunt moved beside himlike a person in a dream. Her eyes were tightly shut， and sheseemed merely to follow the pressure of his arm. Her couragefilled him with amazement. At the same time he noticed thata certain odd change had come over her face， a change whichsomehow evaded his power of analysis.
“There’s nothing here， aunty，” he repeated aloud quickly.
“Let’s go upstairs and see the rest of the house. Then We’llchoose a room to wait up in.”
She followed him obediently， keeping close to his side， andthey locked the kitchen door behind them. It was a relief to getup again. In the hall there was more light than before， for themoon had travelled a little further down the stairs. Cautiouslythey began to go up into the dark vault of the upper house， theboards creaking under their weight.
On the first floor they found the large double drawing-rooms，a search of which revealed nothing. Here also was no sign offurniture or recent occupancy； nothing but dust and neglectand shadows. They opened the big folding doors betweenfront and back drawing-rooms and then came out again to thelanding and went on upstairs.
They had not gone up more than a dozen steps when theyboth simultaneously stopped to listen， looking into eachother’s eyes with a new apprehension across the flickeringcandle flame. From the room they had left hardly ten secondsbefore came the sound of doors quietly closing. It was beyondall question； they heard the booming noise that accompaniesthe shutting of heavy doors， followed by the sharp catching ofthe latch.
“We must go back and see，” said Shorthouse briefly， in a lowtone， and turning to go downstairs again.
Somehow she managed to drag after him， her feet catchingin her dress， her face livid.
When they entered the front drawing-room it was plainthat the folding doors had been closed—half a minute before.
Without hesitation Shorthouse opened them. He almostexpected to see someone facing him in the back room； but onlydarkness and cold air met him. They went through both rooms，finding nothing unusual. They tried in every way to make thedoors close of themselves， but there was not wind enougheven to set the candle flame flickering. The doors would notmove without strong pressure. All was silent as the grave.
Undeniably the rooms were utterly empty， and the houseutterly still.
“It’s beginning，” whispered a voice at his elbow which hehardly recognised as his aunt’s.
He nodded acquiescence， taking out his watch to note thetime. It was fifteen minutes before midnight； he made theentry of exactly what had occurred in his notebook， settingthe candle in its case upon the floor in order to do so. It took amoment or two to balance it safely against the wall.
Aunt Julia always declared that at this moment she was notactually watching him， but had turned her head towards theinner room， where she fancied she heard something moving；but， at any rate， both positively agreed that there came a soundof rushing feet， heavy and very swift—and the next instant thecandle was out！
But to Shorthouse himself had come more than this， andhe has always thanked his fortunate stars that it came to himalone and not to his aunt too. For， as he rose from the stoopingposition of balancing the candle， and before it was actuallyextinguished， a face thrust itself forward so close to his ownthat he could almost have touched it with his lips. It was a faceworking with passion； a man’s face， dark， with thick features，and angry， savage eyes. It belonged to a common man， andit was evilin its ordinary normal expression， no doubt， butas he saw it， alive with intense， aggressive emotion， it was amalignant and terrible human countenance.
There was no movement of the air； nothing but the sound ofrushing feet—stockinged or muffled feet； the apparition of theface； and the almost simultaneous extinguishing of the candle.
In spite of himself， Shorthouse uttered a little cry， nearlylosing his balance as his aunt clung to him with her wholeweight in one moment of real， uncontrollable terror. She madeno sound， but simply seized him bodily. Fortunately， however，she had seen nothing， but had only heard the rushing feet，for her control returned almost at once， and he was able todisentangle himself and strike a match.
The shadows ran away on all sides before the glare， andhis aunt stooped down and groped for the cigar case with theprecious candle. Then they discovered that the candle had notbeen blown out at all； it had been crushed out. The wick waspressed down into the wax， which was flattened as if by somesmooth， heavy instrument.
How his companion so quickly overcame her terror，Shorthouse never properly understood； but his admiration forher self-control increased tenfold， and at the same time servedto feed his own dying flame—for which he was undeniablygrateful. Equally inexplicable to him was the evidence ofphysical force they had just witnessed. He at once suppressedthe memory of stories he had heard of “physical mediums”
and their dangerous phenomena； for if these were true， andeither his aunt or himself was unwittingly a physical medium，it meant that they were simply aiding to focus the forces of ahaunted house already charged to the brim. It was like walkingwith unprotected lamps among uncovered stores of gunpowder.