e Fen district, and it was no misnomer. Nigel, having seen it some thirteen years before, found that his memo

tlines had taken on a grimness that he could hardly believe possible, and the long, dark corridors o

took the very heart out of one. Chairs which seemed to have grown in their places for centuries crowded the corners of hallway and stairs like gigantic nightmares of their original prototypes. Monstrous curtains of

ng with the architecture and the needs of the period in which it was built-if not with modern ideas of hygiene and health-kept the rooms dark and musty. When Nigel first entered the place through the great front d

gh he were in some monstrous Victorian trinket box. A post creaked at every turn he made in its downy softnesses, and being used to the light, camp-l

f-respecting Christian would. There'll be some slight alterations made in Merriton Towers before I'm many days older, you can be

f nothing else. Lonely? Merriton had known the loneliness of Indian nights, far away from any signs of civilization: the loneliness of the jungle when the air was so still that the least sound was like the dropping of a bomb; the strange mystical lon

not a vestige of it, save at the far edge of the Fens where a clump of trees and thick shrubs told him that behind lay Withersby Hall. This, intuition told him, was the home of Antoinette Brellier, the girl of th

Fens. One light, two, three, and then a very host of them flashed out, as though some unseen hand had torn the heavens down and strewn their jewels broadcast over the marshes. Instinctively he got t

, or some new explosive experiment? The dancing flames got into his ey

hen, clad only in his silk pyjamas, and with the cigarette charring itself to a tiny column of gray ash in one hand, he leaned

abited. Too low for stars the things were, for they hung on the edges of the marsh grass like tiny lanterns swung there by fairy hands. In such a house, in such a room, with the shadow of that old four-poster winding its long fingers over him, Merriton began to perspire. It was so devilish uncanny! He was a bra

rs came the sound of a soft knock upon his door, and he whipped round as though

was conscious of a slight trembling of the knees. The door swung open a trifle and the pa

se-like a pistol shot it was, comin' fr

ise you heard was that window which possibly hasn't been opened for a century or two, groaning in pain at being forced into action again! Can't sleep in this beastly room-haven't closed my eyes yet-and when I did get out of that Victorian atrocity over there

denly registered the fact as being a symptom of the state of nerves which Merriton Towers was lik

if you knew the story! If you values your life at any price at all don't go out

tler. "What the devil do you mean, Borkins, talkin' a lot of rot? What are those flames, anyway?

r Nigel, sir. Them there flames is supernatural. Frozen flames the villagers calls 'em, because they don't seem to give out no 'e

hy

Only a matter of six months ago one of the boys from the mill, who was somewhat the worse for liquor, said he was a-goin' ter see who i

vertheless a cold chill crept over Merriton's

ere's never no trace of the person that ventured out across the Fens at evening time. He, or she-a girl tried it once, Lord save 'er!-vanishes off the face of the earth as clean as though they'd never been born. Gawd alone knows wh

Borkins in the eeriest hour of the whole twenty-four-that which hangs between darkness and dawn. Should he go or shouldn't he? He was a fool to believe the thing, and

ider my nerves. India's made a hash of 'em. Get back to bed, man, and don't worry over my investigations. I swear I won't venture out, to-night at any rate. Perhaps to-morrow I may have summoned

nd his eyes-rather shifty, rather narrow, pale blue eyes which Merrito

t score. I've always thought-your poor uncle, Sir Joseph Merriton-and those fl

he whole personality of the man suddenly awake. "My uncle, Borkins? How long

d before the last four years," replied Borkins. "I think-yes-come Augu

ugh held a no

a little more than five years, and that, therefore, when he

l, unhealthy red. He opened his mouth to speak and t

toward the door. "I'll be getting back to my bed again, and leave you to finish your rest undis

eemed dimmer in the fast growing light. "Now why did he make that bloomer about dates, I wonder? Uncle's been gone five years-and Borkins knew it. He was here at the time, and yet why did he suggest th