“Martin! Evelyn hissed my name as we lay in bed. “Martin!”
I half awoke, stirring uneasily to free myself from the bonds of sleep. “Evelyn? What’s wrong?”
“I heard a sound,” Evelyn whispered. “Down in the basement.”
“It was probably one of the servants,” I said, drowsily. Yet I remained awake as the old fears returned.
“Martin,” Evelyn insisted, half rising.
“I’m listening,” I said. I remained still for a moment, trying to work out what had happened. I heard the scraping, nothing like the night-time noises that had been so usual in this house. I wondered if I should investigate, decided that it was probably the wind acting on a loose shutter and rolled over. “It’s nothing, Evelyn.” However, I could not sleep. The sound, and the memories of other sounds, played on my nerves. Sighing, I
