Once again I had been struck in the face by the cold clammy _something_; and I saw Goodyear suddenly clap his hand to his face as he cried out--‘Hullo, what the deuce is that?’ ‘Aha,’ I exclaimed exultantly, for I no longer thought my brain was giving way, ‘you have felt it too?’ ‘Well, something cold and nasty-like struck me in the face. A bat, I expect. Confound ’em. ‘Bats don’t fly at this time of the year,’ I replied. ‘By Jove, no more they do.’ I approached him, and said in a low tone-- ‘Goodyear, this is a mystery beyond our solving. I am resolved to go into that mill.’ He was a brave man, though for a moment or two he hesitated; but on my insisting he consented to humour me, and so we lit the lantern, and leaving the groom in charge of the horse and trap, I, Goodyear, and his man made our way with difficulty up the rotting steps, which were slimy and sodden with wet. As we entered the mill an extraordinary scene of desolation and ruin met our gaze as we flashed the light of the lantern about. In places the floor had broken away, leaving yawning chasms of blackness. From the mouldering rafters huge festoons of cobwebs hung. The accumulated dust and dampness of years had given them the appearance of cords. And oh, how the wind moaned eerily through the rifts and crannies and broken windows! If ever there was a place on this earth where evil spirits might dwell it was surely that ghoul-haunted old mill. The startling aspect of the place impressed us all, perhaps me more than the other two. We advanced gingerly, for the floor was so rotten we were afraid it would crumble beneath our feet.