"They took their supper, and then Joan announced his intention of staying in the room while Darby patrolled the house, and climbed the ladder at one. At first Darby demurred. He had planned to stay. But Joan was inflexible. It was utterly useless to argue with him, so Darby agreed. If Joan wanted help he was to call. At eleven and twelve Darby was to climb the ladder and look in, and at one he was to come in, whatever the situation. At the slightest intimation of danger of any kind Joan was to fire his revolver and Darby was to call for help and rush up the ladder. For all that the people were so quiet round about, they were probably uneasy--they knew that things might happen on the night before Christmas. "Joan sat for some time after Darby had left him, staring about the room. It was simply furnished with a large bed, a table, and two deal chairs. Thrown over the bed was a moth-eaten blanket, checked white and red. Joan swept it off from the bed and shook it, closing his eyes instinctively to avoid the dust. But no dust came. He shook it again. It was as fresh and clean as his handkerchief. He threw it back on the bed and looked out at Darby walking quietly around in the shadow. "He was glad Darby was out there. He got to thinking of ghosts and strange preparations for their coming. The boards of the window creaked, and he gasped and stared, only to see Darby's face at the window. 'Anything happened?' he signalled. Joan shook his head. It must be eleven o'clock. How was it possible? The time had seemed so short. He stared at a big star till his eyes swam. He felt dull and drowsy. He had sat up late the night before, and he needed sleep. "A thought came to him, and it seemed somehow very original and striking. He tapped on the pane to Darby. "'I'll lie down and take a little nap,' he whispered, opening the window softly. 'You can call me at twelve.' Darby nodded. "'How do you feel, old fellow? All right?' he asked." The man choked again and was silent for a time. The strain was growing. The men waited for something to happen as one awaits the falling of the red, snapping embers. "Joan lay down in that bed," said the stranger hoarsely, and from this point he hurried on almost too quickly for clearness, "on that hideous checked blanket, and fell asleep. He fell asleep thinking of Darby's words and how thoughtful they were: 'How do you feel, old fellow? All right?' "He had bad dreams. He dreamed a woman stood at the foot of the bed and stared at him and motioned him to go. And she was an unnatural woman. She kept changing colour, from red to yellow, from yellow to cream colour, from cream colour to white, from white to--ah! she was a dead woman!