I was glad when Keeley rose to go. I went with him to the front door to see him off the premises. After he had gone I remained standing on the steps to get a mouthful of fresh air. It was a dark night; there was no wind, and there was a suspicion of fog in the air. I was standing on the bottom step but one. The nearest lamp-post was some distance down the road. What with the darkness and the mist I could not see any of the lamps on the hall doors on the other side of the street. It was very quiet. There was not a sound of footsteps nor of any sort of traffic. Suddenly, while I was thinking of nothing in particular, except that Keeley had been making rather a greater ass of himself than he generally did, I saw something begin to shape itself in the air in front of me. It did not come all at once, but by degrees. First a dim outline, then feature after feature, until the whole was there. It began to take the shape of a face. It was a face--a woman's face--her face--Ellen Howth's. For the second time it had come to me, unwatched for, undreamed of, unawares, a visitant from the dead--come to me with its awful, staring eyes. There could be no question this time about my having drunk too much. I was as sober as I ever was in my life. I can give no adequate conception of the havoc with which I realised that this was so, and that the face was there. It came slowly towards me. The idea of a closer contact was more than I could endure. As it advanced, I retreated, backwards, up the steps. Still the face came on. I got into the house, and banged the door, as it seemed to me, just in time to shut it out. I staggered against the wall. Lucy came to me, as I stood there trembling. "I was coming to tell you to come in. You will catch a cold." Then, perceiving my state of agitation, "Tom! What is the matter?" "Lucy, I have seen a ghost." "A ghost?" "As I live and breathe, I have seen a ghost. Oh, my God!" "Tom!" "This is the second time I have seen it. I have a premonition that the third time will mean death." There came a knocking at the door. Lucy looked at me. "It is Mr. Keeley back again. The servants have gone to bed. I will open and see." It was not Keeley. It was a short, broadly-built man, with a bushy beard. Other men were with him, though I could only just see them standing in the shadow at the foot of the steps. The bearded man addressed himself to me-- "Are you Thomas Tennant?" "That is my name." "I am a detective. You are my prisoner. I arrest you for wilful murder." Then I saw that the men who had been standing at the foot of the steps, and who now, uninvited, were entering the house, were constables. BOOK II.--THE CLUB. (_The Tale is told by Reginald Townsend, Esq_.) CHAPTER X. THE HONOUR OF THE CLUB.