The Strand Magazine: Volume VII, Issue 37. January, 1894. | Page 8

"The wardrobe is built into the wall. That is the reason it cannot be removed. Have you got the key about you?"
He fumbled in his pocket, and presently produced a bunch of keys.
"I wish you wouldn't open the wardrobe," he said. "I frankly admit that I dislike having it touched."
"All right," I replied. "I will not examine it while you are in the room. You will perhaps allow me to keep the key?"
"Certainly! You can take it from the bunch, if you wish. This is it. I shall be only too glad to have it well out of my own keeping."
"We will go downstairs," I said.
We returned to Sir Henry's library. It was my turn now to lock the door.
"Why do you do that?" he asked.
"Because I wish to be quite certain that no one overhears our conversation."
"What have you got to say?"
"I have a plan to propose to you."
"What is it?"
"I want you to change bedrooms with me to-night."
"What can you mean?--what will Lady Studley say?"
"Lady Studley must know nothing whatever about the arrangement. I think it very likely that the apparition which troubles you will be discovered to have a material foundation. In short, I am determined to get to the bottom of this horror. You have seen it often, and your nerves are much shattered. I have never seen it, and my nerves are, I think, in tolerable order. If I sleep in your room to-night--"
"It may not visit you."
"It may not, but on the other hand it may. I have a curiosity to lie on that bed and to face that wardrobe in the wall. You must yield to my wishes, Sir Henry."
"But how can the knowledge of this arrangement be kept from my wife?"
"Easily enough. You will both go to your rooms as usual. You will bid her good-night as usual, and after the doors of communication are closed I will enter the room and you will go to mine, or to any other that you like to occupy. You say your wife never comes into your room during the hours of the night?"
"She has never yet done so."
"She will not to-night. Should she by any chance call for assistance, I will immediately summon you."
It was very evident that Sir Henry did not like this arrangement. He yielded, however, to my very strong persuasions, which almost took the form of commands, for I saw that I could do nothing unless I got complete mastery over the man.
Lady Studley returned from her drive just as our arrangements were fully made. I had not a moment during all the day to examine the interior of the wardrobe. The sick woman's restlessness grew greater as the hours advanced. She did not care to leave her husband's side. She sat with him as he examined his books. She followed him from room to room. In the afternoon, to the relief of everyone, some fresh guests arrived. In consequence we had a cheerful evening. Lady Studley came down to dinner in white from top to toe. Her dress was ethereal in texture and largely composed of lace. I cannot describe woman's dress, but with her shadowy figure and worn, but still lovely face, she looked spiritual. The gleam in her large blue eyes was pathetic. Her love for her husband was touching to behold. How soon, how very soon, they must part from each other! Only I as a doctor knew how impossible it was to keep the lamp of life much longer burning in the poor girl's frame.
We retired as usual to rest. Sir Henry bade me a cheerful good-night. Lady Studley nodded to me as she left the room.
[Illustration: "'SLEEP WELL,' SHE SAID, IN A GAY VOICE."]
"Sleep well," she said, in a gay voice.
It was late the next morning when we all met round the breakfast table. Sir Henry looked better, but Lady Studley many degrees worse, than the night before. I wondered at her courage in retaining her post at the head of her table. The visitors, who came in at intervals and took their seats at the table, looked at her with wonder and compassion.
"Surely my hostess is very ill?" said a guest who sat next my side.
"Yes, but take no notice of it," I answered.
Soon after breakfast I sought Sir Henry.
"Well--well?" he said, as he grasped my hand. "Halifax, you have seen it. I know you have by the expression of your face."
"Yes," I replied, "I have."
"How quietly you speak. Has not the horror of the thing seized you?"
"No," I said, with a brief laugh. "I told you yesterday that my nerves were in tolerable order. I think my surmise was correct, and that the apparition has tangible form and can be traced to its foundation."
An unbelieving look swept over Sir Henry's face.
"Ah," he said,