But the wood was evidently damp and the fire flickered feebly on the hearth.
The butler left me, and in the stillness of the house I could hear his shuffling step echo down the corridor.

It may have been fancy, but it seemed to me that his departure was the signal for a low moan that came from somewhere behind the wainscot.

There was a narrow cupboard door at one side of the room, and for the moment I wondered whether the moaning came from within.

I am not as a rule lacking in courage (I am sure my reader will be decent enough to believe this), yet I found myself entirely unwilling to open the cupboard door and look within.

In place of doing so I seated myself in a great chair in front of the feeble fire.