"You may have the thing, and
welcome," the fellow said. "Only, I advise you not to look at it late
at night; or just before getting into bed. If you do, you may have bad
dreams."
"I will take my chance of that!" Mr. Vance laughed. "You see, being a
hard-headed cockney, I am not superstitious. It is only you
Highlanders, and your first cousins the Irish, who believe nowadays in
bogles, omens, and such-like"; and, packing the hand carefully in his
knapsack, Mr. Vance bid the strange-looking creature good morning, and
went on his way.
For the rest of the day the hand was uppermost in his
thoughts--nothing had ever fascinated him so much. He sat pondering
over it the whole evening, and bedtime found him still examining
it--examining it upstairs in his room by candlelight. He had a hazy
recollection that some clock had struck twelve, and he was beginning
to feel that it was about time to retire, when, in the mirror opposite
him, he caught sight of the door--it was open.
"By Jove! that's odd!" he said to himself. "I could have sworn I shut
and bolted it." To make sure, he turned round--the door was closed.
"An optical delusion," he murmured; "I will try again."
He looked into the mirror--the door reflected in it was--open. Utterly
at a loss to know how to explain the phenomenon, he leaned forward in
his seat to examine the glass more carefully, and as he did so he
gave a start. On the threshold of the doorway was a shadow--black and
bulbous.
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