I pulled out my electric torch. Its sudden glare sent scores of spiders scurrying in all directions. I could actually hear them--nay, I could smell them, and, wherever I looked, I could see them. The sight made me shudder, for they were not, apparently, house-spiders of the usual variety--but large, fat, oval-bodied things, with curved legs, and with protruding heads that seemed to look at me. Indeed, I don't think that in the whole of my life I have ever spent moments that I less like to dwell upon than the two minutes it took me to push my way through that loathsome tangle of evil-smelling cobwebs alive with spiders. I would not go through such an experience again for any sum. At last I got through them, and I recollect thinking, as I emerged, how foolish I had been to take the wrong turning. Of course, when Vera had led me out we must have come by the other passage, as there had been no cobwebs then. And that led me further to wonder whether at that time the passage had not been in regular use by some person or persons. I did not for a moment believe that old Taylor had been so conscientious as to keep either passage free of cobwebs, seeing how utterly neglected had been the rest of the house. In the servants' quarters, where I presently found myself, I recognised at once that same acrid smell of dry rot I had noticed when last in the house, only now it was more "pronounced." Noiselessly I crept along, in my rubber shoes, to the hall. Everywhere the deathly stillness was so intense that one seemed almost to feel it. Cautiously I crept up the front stairs, keeping close to the wall in order to prevent their creaking. My electric torch proved most useful. I was outside the door of the drawing-room that overlooked Belgrave Street--the first room I had entered on that previous occasion--the room into which I had peered the night before, as I stood upon the ladder. A tiny ray of faint light percolated through the keyhole. I listened, hardly breathing, but could hear no sound at all, except my own heart-beats. Should I turn the handle gently, slowly push the door ajar, and peep in? It might squeak. Should I fling open the door and rush in? Faced with a problem, I was undecided. I admit that at that moment I felt inclined to run away. Instead, I stood motionless, hesitating, frightened at my own temerity. Had I, after all, been wise in disregarding Vera's good advice? I thought of that curious brown stain I remembered so distinctly upon the ceiling in this very room. It had been in the right hand corner-- the corner farthest from me. What was above that corner? Ah, I knew just where that spot would be in the room above.