This was the only reasonable supposition, and I lay in absolute terror for some minutes, fearing to stir or almost to breathe at such close quarters, and quite incapable of rising and putting an end to my terrible suspense. I longed to hear the next "quarter" strike, but nothing relieved the dead silence in my room and in the streets outside. At long last the _quarter to two_ struck, and something in the friendly tones of the massive clock relieved the tension and gave me courage--the courage of desperation--to strike a match and light my candle before starting on a tour of discovery. The middle door was fastened back, as I had found it when taking possession of the room. In any case, that was not the door which had been opened--the sound came from the _outer_ door. I _must_ find out if anyone were hiding in the little dressing-room; and in any case, I must lock the outer door, which I had felt so certain I had locked on coming up to my room. I passed through the open _inner door_ with fear and trembling. To my relief, the small apartment was apparently empty. The wardrobe stood partly open, but nothing more terrible than my own gown was inside it. Then I made my way to the outer door, which gave on to the corridor, determined to make sure of locking it firmly _this_ time. After all, it must have been a wandering guest, who had discovered his mistake at once, and retreated noiselessly! I have seldom been more absolutely dumfounded than when I turned the handle of that door, preparatory to locking it, and found _that it was securely locked already_, just as I had supposed! How could the hinges have creaked then, and whose cautious footsteps had I heard? Once more my eyes fell upon the wardrobe, with its cheap varnish and lock. I had certainly not locked _this_ overnight. Could it have creaked itself farther open? It did not for the moment strike me that the noise came from another quarter, and that the footsteps were still to be explained. I was only too thankful to find the barest apology of an explanation. So I locked the wardrobe as carefully as possible, noticing that the lock was not one of the first quality, and once more retired to bed, and put out my candle, greatly relieved. Scarcely ten minutes had passed (as I afterwards ascertained) when the whole scene was enacted once more! The same cautious tread, the same sound of the _outer door_ creaking slowly on its hinges--there was nothing in the least uncanny about it _per se_. It was just the normal noise that any late comer would make who was thoughtful enough not to disturb a sleeping house. But my impatience got the better of my fears this time. I was not going to be decoyed out of bed a second time on a wild-goose chase. "It must have been that wardrobe door after all! As to the footsteps, I don't know and I don't care! The cheap lock must have given way, and I shall find the wardrobe door has swung open, I am sure."