The Gloved Hand | Page 4

bath-room is right at the end
of the hall. Wash up, if you need to, and then come down, and we will
have a good-night smoke."
It was a pleasant room, with the simplest of furniture. The night-breeze
ruffled the curtains at the windows, and filled the room with the cool
odour of the woods--how different it was from the odour of dirty
asphalt! But I was in no mood to linger there--I wanted an explanation
of that strange light and of those two white-robed figures. So I paused
only to open my grip, change into a lounging-coat, and brush off the
dust of the journey. Then I hastened downstairs.
Godfrey met me at the stair-foot, and led the way into what was
evidently a lounging-room. A tray containing some cold meat, bread
and butter, cheese, and a few other things, stood on a side-table, and to
this Godfrey added two bottles of Bass.
"No doubt you're hungry after the ride," he said. "I know I am," and he
opened the bottles. "Help yourself," and he proceeded to make himself
a sandwich. "You see, I live the simple life out here. I've got an old
couple to look after the place--Mr. and Mrs. Hargis. Mrs. Hargis is an
excellent cook--but to ask her to stay awake till midnight would be
fiendish cruelty. So she leaves me a lunch in the ice-box, and goes
quietly off to bed. I'll give you some berries for breakfast such as you

don't often get in New York--and the cream--wait till you try it! Have a
cigar?"
"No," I said, sitting down very content with the world, "I've got my
pipe," and I proceeded to fill up.
Godfrey took down his own pipe from the mantelshelf and sat down
opposite me. A moment later, two puffs of smoke circled toward the
ceiling.
"Now," I said, looking at him, "go ahead and tell me about it."
Godfrey watched a smoke-ring whirl and break before he answered.
"About ten days ago," he began, "just at midnight, I happened to glance
out of my bedroom window, as I was turning in, and caught a glimpse
of a queer light apparently sinking into the tree-tops. I thought nothing
of it; but two nights later, at exactly the same time, I saw it again. I
watched for it the next night, and again saw it--just for an instant, you
understand, as it formed high in the air and started downward. The next
night I was up a tree and saw more of it; but it was not until night
before last that I found the place from which the whole spectacle could
be seen. The trees are pretty thick all around here, and I doubt if there is
any other place from which those two figures would be visible."
"Then there were two figures!" I said, for I had begun to think that my
eyes had deceived me.
"There certainly were."
"Standing in space?"
"Oh, no; standing on a very substantial roof."
"But what is it all about?" I questioned. "Why should that light descend
every midnight? What is the light, anyway?"
"That's what I've brought you out here to find out. You've got four clear
days ahead of you--and I'll be at your disposal from midnight on, if you

happen to need me."
"But you must have some sort of idea about it," I persisted. "At least
you know whose roof those figures were standing on."
"Yes, I know that. The roof belongs to a man named Worthington
Vaughan. Ever hear of him?"
I shook my head.
"Neither had I," said Godfrey, "up to the time I took this place. Even
yet, I don't know very much. He's the last of an old family, who made
their money in real estate, and are supposed to have kept most of it.
He's a widower with one daughter. His wife died about ten years ago,
and since then he has been a sort of recluse, and has the reputation of
being queer. He has been abroad a good deal, and it is only during the
last year that he has lived continuously at this place next door, which is
called Elmhurst. That's about all I've been able to find out. He certainly
lives a retired life, for his place has a twelve-foot wall around it, and no
visitors need apply."
"How do you know?"
"I tried to make a neighbourly call yesterday, and wasn't admitted. Mr.
Vaughan was engaged. Getting ready for his regular midnight
hocus-pocus, perhaps!"
I took a meditative puff or two.
"Is it hocus-pocus, Godfrey?" I asked, at last. "If it is, it's a mighty
artistic piece of work."
"And if it isn't hocus-pocus, what is it?" Godfrey retorted. "A spiritual
manifestation?"
I confess I had no answer ready. Ideas