'Well, I had a sort of general idea that there was a building in
connection, but my eyes were fixed upon the steps. I seemed to know
them. There was a wide open door at top. I felt that I was well
acquainted with what was on the other side of that door. On the steps
my uncle was standing. Mind, I saw him as well as I see you, and,
thank goodness, I can see you pretty well. I can't tell you what he
wore, because I'm no hand at describing clothes; but I've an
impression that he had on a suit of tweeds and a bowler hat. He was
apparently lounging on the steps, watching the passers-by. He did not
see me--of that I was sure. On a sudden someone else came towards him
up the steps. He was a stranger to me, though I think I should know
him if I saw him again. He was taller than my uncle, and, I imagine,
younger. Anyhow, he was altogether a bigger and a stronger man. He had
a walking stick in his hand, with a horn handle. Directly he got
within reach, without, so far as I could judge, uttering a word of
warning, with this stick he struck my uncle with all his force across
the face. I suspect that my uncle had seen him coming before I did,
and, for reasons of his own, had stuck to what he deemed his post of
vantage on the steps, being unwilling to go and meet him, and ashamed
to run away. That he was not so taken aback by the suddenness of the
attack as I was I felt persuaded. He put out his hand to guard
himself, and, I fancy, at the last moment was disposed to turn tail
and flee. But it was too late. The blow got home. He staggered back
and would have fallen had not the stranger gripped him with his left
hand, and commenced to belabour him with the stick which he held with
his right. People came streaming out of the open door above and up the
steps from the street. My uncle made not the faintest attempt at
resistance. When the people came close enough to hamper the free
action of his arm, the stranger, giving his victim a push, sent him
head foremost down the steps. In an instant the whole thing vanished.'
Mr Holland ceased. The lady had been regarding him with wide-open grey
eyes.
'Guy!' she said.
'Wasn't it odd?'
'Odd? You must have been dreaming.'
'I was as wide awake as you are. It was a mirage, or vision, or
something of the kind. The queerest part of it was that it was so
amazingly real, and so near. When the thing had gone I kept asking
myself why I hadn't jumped up and interfered. I could have got there
in a dozen strides.'
'Then what happened?'
'I sat for a long time half dazed, half expecting the thing to come
again, or to continue from the point at which it had left off. Then I
went and told a man with whom I was chumming what I'd seen. He said
the sun had got into my eyes, advised me to have a drink--made fun of
it altogether. But I knew better; and, as it turned out, I was haunted
by my uncle all through the night.'
'Awake or sleeping?'
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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