"'All right, Peter,' I said, and by Jove, my voice was not as steady as
I should have liked! I made for the door, and had a bit of work not to
start running. I took some thundering long strides, as you can imagine.
Near the door, I had a sudden feeling that there was a cold wind in the
room. It was almost as if the window had been suddenly opened a little.
I got to the door, and the old butler gave back a step, in a sort of
instinctive way. 'Collar the candles, Peter!' I said, pretty sharply,
and shoved them into his hands. I turned, and caught the handle, and
slammed the door shut, with a crash. Somehow, do you know, as I did so,
I thought I felt something pull back on it; but it must have been only
fancy. I turned the key in the lock, and then again, double-locking the
door. I felt easier then, and set-to and sealed the door. In addition, I
put my card over the keyhole, and sealed it there; after which I
pocketed the key, and went downstairs--with Peter; who was nervous and
silent, leading the way. Poor old beggar! It had not struck me until
that moment that he had been enduring a considerable strain during the
last two or three hours.
"About midnight, I went to bed. My room lay at the end of the corridor
upon which opens the door of the Grey Room. I counted the doors between
it and mine, and found that five rooms lay between. And I am sure you can
understand that I was not sorry. Then, just as I was beginning to
undress, an idea came to me, and I took my candle and sealing wax, and
sealed the doors of all five rooms. If any door slammed in the night, I
should know just which one.
"I returned to my room, locked the door, and went to bed. I was waked
suddenly from a deep sleep by a loud crash somewhere out in the passage.
I sat up in bed, and listened, but heard nothing. Then I lit my candle. I
was in the very act of lighting it when there came the bang of a door
being violently slammed, along the corridor. I jumped out of bed, and got
my revolver. I unlocked the door, and went out into the passage, holding
my candle high, and keeping the pistol ready. Then a queer thing
happened. I could not go a step toward the Grey Room. You all know I am
not really a cowardly chap. I've gone into too many cases connected with
ghostly things, to be accused of that; but I tell you I funked it; simply
funked it, just like any blessed kid. There was something precious unholy
in the air that night. I ran back into my bedroom, and shut and locked
the door. Then I sat on the bed all night, and listened to the dismal
thudding of a door up the corridor. The sound seemed to echo through all
the house.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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