The place fairly reeked
with damp, but this was not to be wondered at, taking in consideration
the fact, that the soil was clay, the floor of the very poorest
quality of cement, cracked and broken in a dozen and one places, and
that there had been no fires in any of the rooms for many months. Here
and there in the darkest corners were clusters of ugly cockroaches,
whilst more than one monstrous rat scampered away on my approach. My
dog, or rather the dog that was lent me, and which went by the name of
Scott, kept close at my heel, showing no very great enthusiasm in his
mission, and giving even the rodents as wide a berth as possible.
I invariably trust to my psychic faculty (as you know, Mr. O'Donnell,
some people are born with the faculty) to enable me to detect the
presence of the superphysical. I generally feel the latter
incorporated in some inexplicable manner in the ether, or see it
inextricably interwoven with the shadows.
Here in the basement it was everywhere--the air was simply saturated
with it, and, as the fading sunlight called shadow after shadow into
existence, it confronted me enigmatically whichever way I turned.
I went upstairs, and the presence followed me. In one or two of the
top bedrooms--more particularly in a tiny garret overlooking the
back-yard--the Presence seemed inclined to hover. For some seconds I
waited there, in order to see if there would be any further
development; there being none--I obeyed the mandates of a sudden
impulse and made my way once more to the basement.
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