And then, suddenly, my lamp was put out, and I could not see a
yard before me. I realized all at once that I was doing a very silly
thing, sitting there, and I jumped up. Even as I did so, I _thought_ I
heard a sound in the passage, and quite _near_ me. I made one backward
spring into my room, and slammed and locked the door. I sat on my bed,
and stared at the door. I had my revolver in my hand; but it seemed an
abominably useless thing. I felt that there was something the other side
of that door. For some unknown reason I _knew_ it was pressed up against
the door, and it was soft. That was just what I thought. Most
extraordinary thing to think.
"Presently I got hold of myself a bit, and marked out a pentacle
hurriedly with chalk on the polished floor; and there I sat in it
almost until dawn. And all the time, away up the corridor, the door of
the Grey Room thudded at solemn and horrid intervals. It was a
miserable, brutal night.
"When the day began to break, the thudding of the door came gradually to
an end, and, at last, I got hold of my courage, and went along the
corridor in the half light to cap the lens of my camera. I can tell you,
it took some doing; but if I had not done so my photograph would have
been spoilt, and I was tremendously keen to save it. I got back to my
room, and then set-to and rubbed out the five-pointed star in which I had
been sitting.
"Half an hour later there was a tap at my door.
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