In
the tension of the moment I had allowed the light to go out; now
recovering myself, I pressed the spring, and waved its rays backward
and forward down the stairway. The space was entirely empty, yet the
hesitating footsteps approached us, up and up. I could almost have
sworn on which step they last struck. At this interesting moment
Sophia Brooks uttered a piercing shriek and collapsed into my arms,
sending the electric torch rattling down the steps, and leaving us in
impenetrable darkness. Really, I profess myself to be a gallant man,
but there are situations which have a tendency to cause annoyance. I
carried the limp creature cautiously down the stairs, fearing the fate
of the butler, and at last got her into the dining-room, where I lit a
candle, which gave a light less brilliant, perhaps, but more steady
than my torch. I dashed some water in her face, and brought her to her
senses, then uncorking another bottle of wine, I bade her drink a
glassful, which she did.
'What was it?' she whispered.
'Madam, I do not know. Very possibly the club-footed ghost of
Rantremly.'
'Do you believe in ghosts, Monsieur Valmont?'
'Last night I did not, but at this hour I believe in only one thing,
which is that it is time everyone was asleep.
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