"I returned to my room, locked the door, and went to bed. I was waked
suddenly from a deep sleep by a loud crash somewhere out in the passage.
I sat up in bed, and listened, but heard nothing. Then I lit my candle. I
was in the very act of lighting it when there came the bang of a door
being violently slammed, along the corridor. I jumped out of bed, and got
my revolver. I unlocked the door, and went out into the passage, holding
my candle high, and keeping the pistol ready. Then a queer thing
happened. I could not go a step toward the Grey Room. You all know I am
not really a cowardly chap. I've gone into too many cases connected with
ghostly things, to be accused of that; but I tell you I funked it; simply
funked it, just like any blessed kid. There was something precious unholy
in the air that night. I ran back into my bedroom, and shut and locked
the door. Then I sat on the bed all night, and listened to the dismal
thudding of a door up the corridor. The sound seemed to echo through all
the house.
"Daylight came at last, and I washed and dressed. The door had not
slammed for about an hour, and I was getting back my nerve again. I felt
ashamed of myself; though, in some ways it was silly; for when you're
meddling with that sort of thing, your nerve is bound to go, sometimes.
And you just have to sit quiet and call yourself a coward until daylight.
Sometimes it is more than just cowardice, I fancy.
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