Salome could not see whence the figure had come, whether from Philip's room or from the spare bedroom. Only from the drawing-room he could not have issued, as that door was in view, and was shut.
Who was it?
The figure descended slowly, and with inaudible tread. The light from the gas was sufficient to show that the figure was that of a man, but not to let her see his face.
With a sickening feeling at the heart, and a chill that ran through every artery and frosted her blood, and deprived her both of motion and the will to move, she stood looking at the apparition that glided down the staircase, leisurely, noiselessly. She recognised the great-coat and hat – they were those of Mr. Pennycomequick. The great coat was that in which the corpse had been discovered invested.
Who was this coming – coming probably from the room recently tenanted by that strange, awful, dead man?
That was the first thought of horror that shot through her brain, followed by another still more horrible. 'What is it?'
For a while Salome was bereft of power of speech and motion. There was a sensation in her brain as though a handle were being turned that had attached to it every nerve in her body, and that they were being spun off her and on to a reel, like silk from a cocoon. Her hands contracted on what she held; she could not have let them fall had she willed to relax her grasp. They stiffened as do the hands of a corpse. She could not cry out, her tongue was paralyzed. She could not stir a step forward or backward; all control over her knees was gone from her.
When the figure had nearly reached the bottom of the stairs, it stopped and turned its head towards her, and looked at her.
The light of the lowered gas-jet was on her and off the face of the apparition; all she saw was black shadow, as all she had seen of the face of the corpse on the bed had been – a black handkerchief cast over it. But she distinguished the hair, somewhat long behind the ears, and frowzy whiskers about the jaws. That was all she could make out in that moment of acute, agonizing horror. The figure stood looking at her, and she heard the clock in the hall, tick, tick, tick, tick, and then begin the premonitory growl that preceded striking. The figure moved down the final steps, and stole in the same stealthy, noiseless manner to the garden door, and disappeared through it.
The look of the back, the set of the well-known overcoat, the way in which the hat was worn, all recalled to her the dear, lost friend, and yet she knew it could not be he. He would never have inspired her with shuddering dread. He would not have passed her without a word.
In another moment the spell of rigidity was taken off her. The blood rushed tingling through every vein, her hands, her feet, recovered activity, her heart bounded and shook off its fear, and her mind recovered its proper energy.
She ran after the apparition, and found that the garden door was actually open. Instantly, without further consideration, she shut and locked it, and then flew upstairs and knocked vehemently, loudly, at Philip Pennycomequick's door.
He opened it, and was surprised to see Salome on the landing, breathless.
'Is your mother worse?' he asked, for he saw that she was shaking and white.
'Oh, Mr. Pennycomequick, do tell me. Have you had a man here with you?'
'I do not understand.'
'I have seen someone descend the stairs. If he did not come from your study, he issued from that room in which – in which – ' She shuddered. 'I mean from the spare bedroom.'
'No one has been with me.'
'But he came down the staircase, slowly and silently. like a shadow, and passed me.'
'I have seen and heard no one.'
'And yet, there has been someone in the house.'
Philip thought, and then said: 'Miss Cusworth, your nerves have been over-wrought. You have been imposed on by your imagination.'
'But – the garden door. I found it open. I have just locked it. The figure went out through it.'
'Did you distinguish who it was?'
'No, he came from the best bedroom, wearing dear uncle's – I mean Mr. Pennycomequick's overcoat and hat.'
Philip again mused.
'All my poor uncle's clothing,' he said, after a moment of thought, 'all that remained, the overcoat included, I ordered yesterday to be laid out in the spare chamber. I told your mother to dispose of them as she thought proper. I made no doubt that she knew of poor persons to whom they would be serviceable.'
'But no poor person would come at this time of night, and slip out stealthily at the garden door, which ought to be locked at half-past nine.'
'Let us go into the spare room and reassure ourselves,' said Philip. 'You will find the overcoat there, and then, perhaps, you will come to the same conclusion that I have, that you have been over-worried and over-wrought, and that fancy has conjured up the ghost.'
He went back into his room for a candle, and Salome, standing alone, with beating heart, on the landing, asked herself whether she had been deluded by her imagination.
Philip returned with the candle. He smiled and said: 'I remember particularly that great-coat. It was laid on the bed, and the hat by it. I went into the room this evening, about half-past eight, and both were there then.' He had his hand un the door. 'You are not afraid to come in with me?'
Salome shook her head. She had begun to hope that she had been a prey to fancy.
He opened the door, went in, and held the light over his head. The great coat and the hat – were gone!