Part 2

I looked at the bed and somehow the gray and maroon of the bolster and spread reminded me of blood trickling over a sacrificial slab of granite. With this thought came an inexplicable feeling of horror which I could not shake off.

* * * * *

“It is back!” said the girl, suddenly, a note of terror in her voice.

She must have had the same feeling as I, at the same time, although nothing startling had happened--at least nothing that either of us could perceive with the aid of our five senses. The bathroom was empty, and I had started for the door of the closet, when the lights suddenly went out. Once more I was conscious of the peculiar, dusty odor I had detected in the room below. The girl shrieked. Then as if in answer to her cry, I heard a hollow groan and five distinct raps, apparently coming from the direction of the bed.

The door of the closet which I had not searched was not more than a foot from the head of the bed. I could still see it, though indistinctly, by the dim, gray light which came in through the window. Although I am not superstitious, a nameless dread assailed me at the thought of approaching nearer to that bed in which the former owner of the house had breathed his last. I hesitated, berating myself for a coward and weakling--then forced myself toward the door.

As I did so, I heard more raps, not quite so pronounced as formerly, then another moan, and sounds like those of a person gasping for breath. On reaching the door, I turned the knob, but found it locked. Then my fingers touched a key just below it. I turned this with difficulty. It seemed that either the lock was stuck, or something was resisting my efforts. Releasing the key, I once more attempted to open the door. Before I could turn the knob, however, the door again locked itself. From somewhere nearby, I heard a sound which plainly resembled the death rattle!

Once more I succeeded in unlocking the door, although the key was bent in the process. Then, holding the key with my left hand, I turned the knob with my right, and applied my shoulder to the door. Someone, or some thing, was pushing against it on the other side. At first I only succeeded in moving it a fraction of an inch. Gathering my strength for a supreme effort, I forced it wide open. As I did so, a rush of icy cold air enveloped me from head to foot. Hot and perspiring from my exertions as I was, it chilled me to the marrow. My teeth chattered, and I shivered as if I had suddenly been immersed in ice-water.

Within the closet, all was black, as no light reached it from the window. Holding one foot against the door, which was still resisting my efforts, I lighted a match. It went out almost as soon as I struck it, but I had seen enough. Beneath a mound of clothing, evidently snatched from the hooks on the wall, lay a human figure.

Stooping, I succeeded in grasping a foot and ankle. Then I dragged the body with its accompanying mound of clothing, from the closet. By this time my fingers were so numbed with cold that I could scarcely use them. I took my foot from the door, and it closed with a vicious bang.

Miss Van Loan had apparently recovered, in some measure, from her fit of terror, for she came up beside me.

“What is it? What did you find in the closet?” she whispered, peering at the shapeless thing which lay there in the dim, gray light.

Without taking time to reply, I hastily removed the pile of miscellaneous clothing from the body. Then my hand touched a cold forehead--a hairy face.

“Open the door, quickly!” I ordered. “My God, I’m afraid we have come too late.”

She promptly did as she was bidden, while I gathered the cold, still form of Dr. Dorp in my arms. Then I staggered out of the room, across the hall, down the creaking stairway, and out upon the porch, the girl following. As I laid the doctor in the swing where I had deposited the mistress of the house less than an hour before, the lights flashed on once more.

“Rouse the servants,” I said. “Telephone for a doctor. Then bring hot water, towels, blankets, hot-water bottles--and some brandy.”

While she was gone, I alternately slapped, kneaded and rubbed the cold flesh of my friend. She returned in a few minutes that seemed like hours, with two hot water bottles and an armful of towels. Behind her toddled a stout, round-faced woman in a red kimono, with a steaming kettle of water in one hand and a bottle and glass in the other.

We applied the various articles with better will than skill, and a moment later Riggs appeared in bathrobe and slippers carrying four thick woolen blankets. Another ten minutes elapsed before we succeeded in even warming the flesh of our patient.

“We haven’t any brandy, so I brought a bottle of Uncle Gordon’s whiskey,” said the girl. “Do you think we had better give him some?”

“Not yet,” I replied. “It might strangle him if he has enough life left in him to strangle.”

The rumble of a motor sounded in the driveway, and two bright headlights flashed on the porch. A coupe pulled up with shrieking brakes and a young man, carrying a small satchel, got out and dashed up the steps.

“This way, Dr. Graves,” called the girl, beckoning him to the swing where my friend lay.

“Why, it’s Dr. Dorp!” said the young physician, taking the pulse of my friend. “What happened to him?”

“Asphyxiation,” I replied, “and exposure to extreme cold.”

Dr. Graves took a stethoscope from his case and used it for a few moments.

“The doctor has sustained quite a severe shock,” he said, “but he is doing nicely now. There is nothing I can give him or do for him at this stage which will help matters. Fresh air and warmth are our best allies now.”

* * * * *

My friend regained consciousness five minutes later. He immediately recognized Dr. Graves, who had attended a number of his lectures before members of the medical fraternity, and had entered into discussions with him.

While the two were talking, the housekeeper went in for some hot water, lemon and sugar for a toddy. She had only been absent for a few minutes when we were all alarmed by the sound of barking and snarling within the house, punctuated by piercing screams.

Dr. Graves was the first to reach the door, where he paused. I attempted to force my way past him, but he stayed me with his arm.

“Get back, woman!” he shouted to someone within. “Get back and close the door. The creature is mad.”

At the far end of the hall, I saw the stout wife of the house man apparently rooted to the floor by horror. Just in front of her, the Airedale, growling and snarling savagely, was rapidly demolishing the upholstering of a beautiful antique settee. The hairy jaws of the creature were flecked with white foam, and the eyes were bloodshot and unnaturally luminescent from extreme dilation of the pupils.

Seeing the peril in which the poor woman was placed, I caught up one of the porch chairs and rushed past the doctor. The dog took no notice of me until I swung at it with the chair. Then it dodged with surprising dexterity and leaped for my throat, just as two of the chair legs were shattered against the floor. I managed to elude it by quickly crouching behind the chair back, so that it passed clear over my head.

It was up again in an instant, however, and I had all I could do to protect myself from its leaps by fencing with the remains of the chair. Almost before I was aware of it, the beast had backed me into the living room. Then, to my horror, the door closed, and the lights winked out.

I shall never forget the battle I fought in that dark room. That which had been a shaggy creature of flesh and bone in the light, had become a pair of burning orbs, set in a shadowy form, that leaped, snapped, and snarled in a manner which was twice as terrifying as its former attacks had been when each move was completely visible. Now I was guided only by the movements of the luminous eyes, whereas I had previously been able to forecast each hostile move or leap by the crouch or muscular tension which preceded it.

Using the chair as a shield, I eventually managed to circle back to the door. With one hand I attempted to turn the knob, while I manipulated the chair with the other. The door was locked. I immediately felt below for the key, recalling that it had been there earlier in the evening. It was gone!

My canine adversary made a determined leap that forced me to one side. Then some one pounded on the door, and I heard the voice of Dr. Graves.

“Unlock the door, Mr. Evans. I have a gun and electric torch.”

“There is no key on this side,” I replied. Then I caught a glimpse of a light flashing through the keyhole and wondered what had become of the key.

“It must have fallen to the floor on that side,” said the young doctor. “I cannot find it in the hall.”

I again succeeded in maneuvering to a position in front of the door. Then I tramped about in front of it until my shoe struck a hard object. Stooping, I picked it up, and rejoiced to find that the doctor had been right. Again using one hand to manipulate the chair, I inserted the key in the lock and managed to turn it, though with considerable difficulty.

“Turn the knob,” I shouted, “and push.”

The knob turned, and the door opened behind me. A beam of light shot past me, for a moment illuminating the hairy face and dripping fangs of the brute. Then a shot rang out, the light faded from the luminous eyes, and the beast sank slowly to the floor, blood gushing from its mouth and nostrils.

“Good shot, doctor,” I said, turning and releasing my hold on the battered chair. To my surprise I saw Miss Van Loan holding the flashlight in one hand and a smoking pistol in the other, while great tears trickled down her cheeks.

“You!” I cried.

“I was holding these while the doctor went for a ladder,” she said. “He was going to try to help you by climbing up to the window. Then I heard you call. Poor Sandy.”

“Too bad you had to kill your pet,” I replied, closing the door and relieving her of gun and torch.

“W--wasn’t it horrible?” she sobbed. “B-but I had to do it. He might have k-killed you.”

I was about to thank her for having saved my life when the young doctor suddenly came up from the basement, dragging a stepladder. Seeing us standing there in the hall, he laid it down and joined us.

“You have been rescued, I see,” he said.

“Most bravely,” I replied.

“Did the beast bite or scratch you?”

“No.”

“Are you sure? Sometimes a wound goes unnoticed in the heat of combat. Perhaps I had better look you over. I am reasonably sure the dog had hydrophobia.”

He forthwith examined me with the aid of the flashlight. I had not known it before, but my left coat sleeve was torn, and my arm was bleeding where the sharp fangs had raked it.

“Infected,” he said, “and of course I have no serum with me. Come out on the porch.”

On the porch, he made a ligature with a towel and a pair of long scissors. Then he took a bottle and some cotton from his case and drenched the wounds with silver nitrate.

“Better come to the hospital with me at once for a serum treatment,” he advised. “It may save your life.”

“But I can’t leave my friends----” I began.

“Nonsense,” interrupted Dr. Dorp, who was sitting up, although still muffled in a blanket. “Miss Van Loan and I will be all right here on the porch until you get back.”

“Of course,” said the girl. “You have put your life in sufficient jeopardy as it is, Mr. Evans.”

Thus admonished, I got into the coupe with the young doctor, and we set out for the hospital.

“Queer thing the way that door shut and locked itself,” he said, when we emerged on the smooth paving of Sheridan Road. “The key must have been half turned in the lock when the wind blew it shut. The jar locked it and shook out the key.”

Although I did not feel that his explanation of the phenomenon was a true one, I decided not to debate the matter with him, as it was evident that Miss Van Loan did not want it known among her acquaintances that there were strange goings-on in her home.

“It was odd,” I agreed.

“Too bad that the lights had to go out just when they did, too,” he went on. “A most unfortunate coincidence.”

“It was,” I said, with mental reservations.

* * * * *

An hour later at the hospital, my wound was dressed and a considerable quantity of serum injected into my bloodstream. Then I called a cab which got me back to my friends shortly after midnight.

I found Dr. Dorp dozing in one of the porch chairs with a blanket around him, and Miss Van Loan, completely exhausted, asleep in the swing.

“Better try to get some rest in one of these chairs,” said the doctor. “There is nothing further we can do until morning.”

I was not loath to follow his suggestion, and soon drifted into a fitful, dream-haunted slumber from which I did not thoroughly awaken until the slanting rays of the morning sun struck me full in the face.

For a moment I sat there, blinking in the bright light, trying to remember where I was. Then the sound of a low cough from the doorway caused me to turn. I beheld the cadaverous face and angular form of Riggs.

“Good morning, sir,” he said.

“Good morning, Riggs.”

“Will you have your bath hot or cold, sir?”

“The colder the better.”

“Thank you, sir.”

A few moments later I was shaving with a razor which Riggs informed me had belonged to his late master, while a sizable column of cold water roared into the tub. While I bathed and dressed, the houseman repaired the rent in my sleeve. A half-hour afterward, feeling greatly rested and refreshed, I went down to breakfast. Miss Van Loan met me in the dining room where places had been laid for two.

“Dr. Dorp left early this morning for the city,” she informed me. “He asked me to have you wait here until his return this afternoon.”

“He could not have set me a more pleasant task,” I replied, receiving my cup of coffee from the hand of my charming hostess. “Did he mention what urgent business took him to the city?”

“Something about some investigations he wished to make, and some paraphernalia he would need for tonight,” she said. “He was in a great hurry. Wouldn’t even stop for a bite of breakfast.”

“That is his way,” I replied, “when engrossed in a particularly interesting investigation. He will probably neither eat nor drink until the mystery has been solved.”

“And will that be soon?”

“I believe it will.”

“Just what is your opinion, Mr. Evans, of the things you saw last night?”

“I’m afraid,” I replied, “that my opinion at this time is not of much value. Frankly, I have been mystified. I have theories, of course, but they are, after all, only theories.”

“Do you believe it was the ghost of Uncle Gordon that we saw in the living room last night?”

“I don’t believe in ghosts.”

“Then what was it? What could have caused it? What could have caused doors to lock and unlock, to open and close without the touch of human hands? What could have caused the intense cold--the poker to creep across the floor as if it were alive? What drove my dog mad with fear?”

“The dog,” I replied, “showed symptoms of hydrophobia.”

“That is what Dr. Dorp thought, although he was not sure. He took the carcass with him, wrapped in a sheet for examination.”

“Then his opinion confirms that of Dr. Graves.”

“I don’t see how poor Sandy could have gotten it,” she said. “He hasn’t been near any other animal, and I understand he would have to be scratched or bitten by one to become infected.”

“The examination will show whether or not he had hydrophobia, and I hope he hadn’t,” I replied, “for a very personal reason. Just how he contracted it, of course, may never be known.”

“For your sake, I too hope that he didn’t have it. You are in grave danger, are you not, from that bite?”

“Not so bad as all that. A comparatively short time ago it was the equivalent of a death warrant to be bitten by a rabid animal. Modern science, however, has made death from hydrophobia a rarity when treatment is administered in time.”

* * * * *

The remainder of the day was spent quite pleasantly, strolling about the grounds and on the white, foam-edged beach, or lolling on the large, conformable porch.

We had dinner at six, and I was enjoying a cigar in the swing shortly thereafter, when I heard the throb of a motor in the driveway and the big car of Dr. Dorp came into view.

He drove up to the curb, and I saw that he had four men with him. Each was carrying a large package covered with khaki. The packages were placed on the porch, and the doctor presented his four companions, as Mr. Easton, civil engineer, Mr. Brandon, electrical engineer, and Messrs. Hogan and Rafferty, detectives. At a sign from the doctor, the two detectives immediately strolled out into the shrubbery.

“We’re going to make a few preparations for the show this evening,” he said, addressing me. “Want to come along?”

“Of course.”

“All right. Each man grab a bundle. We haven’t much time before dark.”

I took up one of the khaki-wrapped packages, which was far from light, and each other man did likewise. The doctor led the way around the house, and down to the beach.

Directly behind the house we unwrapped two of the packages. One proved to be a set of surveyor’s instruments which the civil engineer quickly assembled. The other looked very much like a radio set with its loop aerials and dials, although there was no speaker or headphone with it. The radio set was placed on a small folding table, and Mr. Easton sighted from that point, while I acted as roadman and Mr. Brandon as chainman. We measured off a distance of two thousand feet in a straight line along the beach, the doctor following with the other package. At that point, the other radio-like machine was assembled and placed on a folding table. We left Mr. Brandon with this machine, and went back to the first one.

“Now, Evans,” said my friend. “You and Mr. Easton go back to the house and keep Miss Van Loan company. As soon as it begins to get dark go into the living room and occupy the same positions as last night. Mr. Easton has a false beard with him, and will be disguised to look like me. Caution Miss Van Loan, when she is inside the house, to address Mr. Easton by my name. Do not, under any circumstances, tell her this while you are in the house. When you hear my motor racing outside, come out. Mr. Easton will remain. Rafferty will then go in to take your place. Is everything clear?”

“Perfectly.”

We found Miss Van Loan on the porch, and I whispered our plans to her while Easton adjusted his whiskers. He was about the same build and height as the doctor, and thus disguised, bore considerable resemblance to him.

We chatted on the porch until dusk, then went into the living room and took our seats. Presently the door opened and closed as on the night before. Then the lights went out. Hearing a rustling sound near the door, I looked, and saw the gleaming print of a human foot forming on the carpet. In a moment another had formed in front of it while the rustling sound continued. The first footprint disappeared and a third formed in front of the second. It was as if some invisible entity were walking toward the center of the room, leaving luminous tracks which disappeared each time a foot was lifted.

The footprints stopped, and drew together, side by side, in the center of the room. Then there was a slight thump, and a wispy form, similar to the one we had seen the night before, began to materialize while the two footprints slowly faded. The thing reached a height of more than six feet, wabbling this way and that as if scarcely able to support its own weight, while the horrible odor we had noticed the night before permeated the room.

Suddenly the lights flashed on, and the apparition disappeared. Noticing that there was something glistening on the floor where the thing had stood, I went over to investigate. There was a small pool of clear, foul-smelling liquid rapidly soaking into the rug. As I bent over to examine it I heard a cry of warning from the girl and a quick movement behind me. I turned, but could not move in time to avoid the heavy chair which was rushing toward me. It knocked me flat, fell over me, righted itself, and came back, apparently bent on my destruction. I managed to roll out of its way and get to my feet, but it promptly chased me to the davenport, behind which I took shelter.

“Holy mackerel!” exclaimed the pseudo Dr. Dorp.

The chair, apparently realizing that it was baffled, swung about and quickly returned to its place in the corner.

The phenomena, thus far, including the materialization of the spectre, had taken a little more than half an hour. I heard the sound for which I had been listening--the roar of the doctor’s motor.

“A remarkable chair, doctor,” I said. “The thing rather fagged me. I think I’ll step out on the porch for a breath of cool air.”

The door obligingly opened for me when I left the room. The front door, however, was already open. Rafferty was standing on the porch.

“Go on down to the car,” he whispered. “The doctor’s waitin’ for you.”

I went, and climbed into the front seat beside the doctor. Detective Hogan was in the back seat. We whirled away with moaning gears.

The doctor handed me a folded map.

“Open this, will you, Evans?” he requested. “Hold it beneath the dash light. I don’t want to miss the road.”

I opened it, and found it was a detailed map of Lake County. A large triangle had been traced on the paper, its smallest angle resting on a spot marked with an X, apparently some eight miles due west of our present location.

“Does X mark the spot where the body was found?” I asked, as we spun around onto Sheridan Road on two wheels.