The Filigree Ball | Page 5

was not without sympathy - well, let me, say, for a dog who preferred
howling a dismal accompaniment to his master's music, to keeping
open watch over a neighborhood dominated by the unhallowed
structure I now propose to enter.
The house is too well known for me to attempt a minute description of
it. The illustrations which have appeared in all the papers have already
acquainted the general public with its simple facade and rows upon
rows of shuttered windows. Even the great square porch with its bench
for negro attendants has been photographed for the million. Those who
have seen the picture in which the wedding-guests are shown flying

from its yawning doorway, will not be especially interested in the quiet,
almost solemn aspect it presented as I passed up the low steps and laid
my hand upon the knob of the old-fashioned front door.
Not that I expected to win an entrance thereby, but because it is my
nature to approach everything in a common-sense way. Conceive then
my astonishment when at the first touch the door yielded. It was not
even latched.
"So! so!" thought I. "This is no fool's job; some one is in the house."
I had provided myself with an ordinary pocket-lantern, and, when I had
convinced Hibbard that I fully meant to enter the house and discover
for myself who had taken advantage of the popular prejudice against it
to make a secret refuge or rendezvous of its decayed old rooms, I took
out this lantern and held it in readiness.
"We may strike a hornets' nest," I explained to Hibbard, whose feet
seemed very heavy even for a man of his size. "But I'm going in and so
are you. Only, let me suggest that we first take off our shoes. We can
hide them in these bushes."
"I always catch cold when I walk barefooted," mumbled my brave
companion; but receiving no reply he drew off his shoes and dropped
them beside mine in the cluster of stark bushes which figure so
prominently in the illustrations that I have just mentioned. Then he took
out his revolver, and cocking it, stood waiting, while I gave a cautious
push to the door.
Darkness! silence!
Rather had I confronted a light and heard some noise, even if it had
been the ominous click to which eve are so well accustomed. Hibbard
seemed to share my feelings, though from an entirely different cause.
"Pistols and lanterns are no good here," he grumbled. "What we want at
this blessed minute is a priest with a sprinkling of holy water; and I for
one -"

He was actually sliding off.
With a smothered oath I drew him back.
"See here!" I cried, "you're not a babe in arms. Come on or - Well, what
now?"
He had clenched my arm and was pointing to the door which was
slowly swaying to behind us.
"Notice that," he whispered. "No key in the lock! Men use keys but -"
My patience could stand no more. With a shake I rid myself of his
clutch, muttering:
"There, go! You're too much of a fool for me. I'm in for it alone." And
in proof of my determination, I turned the slide of the lantern and
flashed the light through the house.
The effect was ghostly; but while the fellow at my side breathed hard
he did not take advantage of my words to make his escape, as I half
expected him to. Perhaps, like myself, he was fascinated by the dreary
spectacle of long shadowy walls and an equally shadowy staircase
emerging from a darkness which a minute before had seemed
impenetrable. Perhaps he was simply ashamed. At all events he stood
his ground, scrutinizing with rolling eyes that portion of the hall where
two columns, with gilded Corinthian capitals, marked the door of the
room which no man entered without purpose or passed without dread.
Doubtless he was thinking of that which had so frequently been carried
out between those columns. I know that I was; and when, in the sudden
draft made by the open door, some open draperies hanging near those
columns blew out with a sudden swoop and shiver, I was not at all
astonished to see him lose what little courage had remained in him. The
truth is, I was startled myself, but I was able to hide the fact and to
whisper back to him, fiercely:
"Don't be an idiot. That curtain hides nothing worse than some
sneaking political refugee or a gang of counterfeiters."

"Maybe. I'd just like to put my hand on Upson and -"
"Hush!"
I had just heard something.
For a moment we stood breathless, but as the sound was not repeated I
concluded that it was the creaking of that far-away