I have no explanation
to make of these phenomena. Like the occurrences at the seance,
they were, and that was all.
But on Thursday night of that week my wife came into my bedroom,
and stated flatly that there were burglars in the house.
Now it has been my contention always that if a burglar gains
entrance, he should be allowed to take what he wants. Silver can
be replaced, but as I said to my wife then, Horace Johnson could
not. But she had recently acquired a tea set formerly belonging
to her great-grandmother, and apprehension regarding it made her,
for the nonce, less solicitous for me than usual.
"Either you go or I go," she said. "Where's your revolver?"
I got out of bed at that, and went down the stairs. But I must
confess that I felt, the moment darkness surrounded me, considerably
less trepidation concerning the possible burglar than I felt as to
the darkness itself. Mrs. Johnson had locked herself in my bedroom,
and there was something horrible in the black depths of the lower
hall.
We are old-fashioned people, and have not yet adopted electric
light. I carried a box of matches, but at the foot of the stairs
the one I had lighted went out. I was terrified. I tried to
light another match, but there was a draft from somewhere, and it
too was extinguished before I had had time to glance about.
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