“It’s a ghost, you know,” he said. “He came down to the river about dusk and stood near me for an hour. At first I thought he was--was real, and I warned him that he had better stand further off if he didn’t want to be hooked. And then it struck me he wasn’t real, and I cast, well, right through him, and about seven he walked up towards the house.” “Were you frightened?” “No. It was so tremendously interesting. So you saw him here too. Whereabouts?” “Just outside. I think he is in the house now.” Jack looked round. “Did you see him come in?” he asked. “No, but I felt him. There’s another queer thing too; the chimney of the brick-kiln is smoking.” Jack looked out of the window. It was nearly dark but the wreathing smoke could just be seen. “So it is,” he said, “fat, greasy smoke. I think I’ll go up and see what’s on. Come too?” “I think not,” I said. “Are you frightened? It isn’t worth while. Besides, it is so tremendously interesting.” Jack came back from his little expedition still interested. He had found nothing stirring at the kiln, but though it was then nearly dark the interior was faintly luminous, and against the black of the sky he could see a wisp of thick white smoke floating northwards. But for the rest of the evening we neither heard nor saw anything of abnormal import, and the next day ran a course of undisturbed hours. Then suddenly a hellish activity was manifested. That night, while I was undressing for bed, I heard a bell ring furiously, and I thought I heard a shout also. I guessed where the ring came from, since Franklyn and his wife had long ago gone to bed, and went straight to Jack’s room. But as I tapped at the door I heard his voice from inside calling loud to me. “Take care,” it said, “he’s close to the door.” A sudden qualm of blank fear took hold of me, but mastering it as best I could, I opened the door to enter, and once again something pushed softly by me, though I saw nothing. Jack was standing by his bed, half-undressed. I saw him wipe his forehead with the back of his hand. “He’s been here again,” he said. “I was standing just here, a minute ago, when I found him close by me. He came out of the inner room, I think. Did you see what he had in his hand?” “I saw nothing.” “It was a knife; a great long carving knife. Do you mind my sleeping on the sofa in your room to-night? I got an awful turn then. There was another thing too. All round the edge of his clothes, at his collar and at his wrists, there were little flames playing, little white licking flames.” * * * * *