stirs to the eye. I don't wonder that you failed to hear it. But I heard it.'
'And did the spectre seem to be there, when you looked out?'
'It WAS there.'
'Both times?'
He repeated firmly: 'Both times.'
'Will you come to the door with me, and look for it now?'
He bit his under-lip as though he were somewhat unwilling, but arose. I opened
the door, and stood on the step, while he stood in the doorway. There, was the
Danger-light. There, was the dismal mouth of the tunnel. There, were the high
wet stone walls of the cutting. There, were the stars above them.
'Do you see it?' I asked him, taking particular note of his face. His eyes were
prominent and strained; but not very much more so, perhaps, than my own had
been when I had directed them earnestly towards the same spot.
'No,' he answered. 'It is not there.'
'Agreed,' said I.
We went in again, shut the door, and resumed our seats. I was thinking how best
to improve this advantage, if it might be called one, when he took up the
conversation in such a matter of course way, so assuming that there could be no
serious question of fact between us, that I felt myself placed in the weakest of
positions.
'By this time you will fully understand, sir,' he said, 'that what troubles me so
dreadfully, is the question, What does the spectre mean?'
I was not sure, I told him, that I did fully understand.
'What is its warning against?' he said, ruminating, with his eyes on the fire, and
only by times turning them on me. 'What is the danger? Where is the danger?
There is danger overhanging, somewhere on the Line. Some dreadful calamity
will happen. It is not to be doubted this third time, after what has gone before. But
surely this is a cruel haunting of me. What can I do?'
He pulled out his handkerchief, and wiped the drops from his heated forehead.
'If I telegraph Danger, on either side of me, or on both, I can give no reason for it,'
he went on, wiping the palms of his hands. 'I should get into trouble, and do no
85