He pondered a moment, then suddenly he wagged his crooked fore-finger at me and said: "It is something more than an essence--it is stronger. The other evening when it was getting dusk I got up from my chair to light the candles, and I saw, as I thought, someone about six yards from that window--outside on the flagstones. It was more than a shadowy shape. So without waiting I ran out into the hall and opened the front door, feeling sure I should see a tramp or someone there. But the drive was quite empty--I only looked out into the dusk. But as I looked out something that I could not see slipped through and passed into the house. The same kind of thing has happened a dozen times." The little old man passed his hand over his brow. "Here," I said rather brusquely, "you're not well; you're just a bundle of nerves. Look here, sir, you want a holiday." "Yes," he said, wiping his brow. "I try to tell myself that it is all rot ... all my fancy. But what would _you_ do?" "See a doctor," I replied. "Doctors?... Bah! I'll tell you," he whispered. "I want a ghost-doctor to rid me of this invisible, pushing thing. It gets stronger every time! At first it just slipped through; just a bit more than a gust of wind. But now it's getting compact. To-night it drove me out of the house: that was how I came to be wandering out on the highroad like a lost soul." "But ... goodness, sir, such a thing outrages reason." "You can say what you will, but _it_ is there, and it is growing tangible. Last night I could distinguish his features as he came up close to the window. He smiled at me, but the smile was one of inscrutable evil. He resents me being in this house. I shall have to abandon it." "This little man is either off his head, or worse," I said to myself. In spite of the warmth of the room, I felt myself shiver. At that moment I heard the sound of a stealthy footstep outside the door. The little old man jumped up. "I say," he said in an odd voice, "did you hear?" I pretended I had not heard. "Ah, you didn't ... and, of course, you didn't feel anything. It must have been my imagination." A wave of shame ran over me. I knew that I had not the courage to listen to the old fellow's story any longer. I finished my whisky-and-soda and stood up. "It is very kind of you, sir, to offer me a lodging for the night. I am feeling rather weary and would like to go to bed now, if it is convenient to you." "Come then, sir," he said, with his old-fashioned politeness, and he walked towards the door. Then I saw the _thing_. There wasn't a shadow of doubt about it. I saw the little old man open the door. The next moment he started back. Then he thrust forward with his body, and I could see him bearing against something. He swayed, physically, as a man sways when he is wrestling. A second after he was free. "Well, you've seen it--what do you think of it?" he said presently, as I followed him into the hall. His face had turned cloudy whitish grey.