"I feel it to be incumbent upon me to suggest," he said, "that we spend the night at an hotel after all." He walked rapidly downstairs and into the library and began to strap up the grip. "Yet," he said, "there may be a natural explanation of what we've heard; for it is noteworthy that we have actually _seen_ nothing. It might even be possible to get used to the ringing and the wailing after a time. Frankly, I am loath to go back on my bargain!" Whilst I stared at him in amazement, he stood there indeterminate as it seemed. Then-- "Come, Pearce!" he cried loudly, "I can see that you do not share my views; but for my own part I shall return to-morrow and devote further attention to the phenomena." Extinguishing the light, he walked out into the hall-way, carrying the grip in his hand. I was not far behind him. We walked toward the door together, and-- "Turn the light out, Pearce," directed Smith; "the switch is at your elbow. We can see our way to the door well enough, now." In order to carry out these instructions, it became necessary for me to remain a few paces in the rear of my companion, and I think I have never experienced such a pang of nameless terror as pierced me at the moment of extinguishing the light; for Smith had not yet opened the door, and the utter darkness of The Gables was horrible beyond expression. Surely darkness is the most potent weapon of the Unknown. I know that at the moment my hand left the switch I made for the door as though the hosts of hell pursued me. I collided violently with Smith. He was evidently facing toward me in the darkness, for at the moment of our collision he grasped my shoulder as in a vice. "My God, Petrie! look behind you!" he whispered. I was enabled to judge of the extent and reality of his fear by the fact that the strange subterfuge of addressing me always as Pearce was forgotten. I turned in a flash.... Never can I forget what I saw. Many strange and terrible memories are mine, memories stranger and more terrible than those of the average man; but this _thing_ which now moved slowly down upon us through the impenetrable gloom of that haunted place was (if the term be understood) almost absurdly horrible. It was a mediaeval legend come to life in modern London; it was as though some horrible chimera of the black and ignorant past was become create and potent in the present. A luminous hand--a hand in the veins of which fire seemed to run so that the texture of the skin and the shape of the bones within were perceptible--in short a hand of glowing, fiery flesh, clutching a short knife or dagger which also glowed with the same hellish, infernal luminance, was advancing upon us where we stood--was not three paces removed!