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He heard an ominous creaking sound from the hall, like that of a single, tentative footstep, and then the sound of a door closing quietly somewhere. Dare held his breath. He stepped out into the hallway and looked down its length. Nothing. He exhaled, then carefully moved down the hall again. “’Come on, boys! Maria Hidalgo? Pompette?” He made smacking summoning sounds with his hps.

Dare came to another door and stopped, but as he was about to push it open he heard yet another strange sound from somewhere. At first it sounded like the distant buzzing of bees, but then as Dare stood motionless, straining to hear, it became a low murmuring, indistinct and run together, of several men speaking—praying?—in Latin. Confounded, Dare stopped and attentively listened and then saw something moving at the end of the hall, a black shape. He saw it open the door of a room at the end of the hall, walk into it, and close the door behind it. The author’s eyes widened. And then suddenly he leaped from his skin with a yelp as from behind him a hand came down on his shoulder. Dare whirled, his heart pounding.

“Oh, there you are,” said Gabriel Case. He was standing there, smiling indulgently. “Mr. Dare, I’ve been searching for you everywhere. Really. Exploring the house, are we?”

“Yes. I mean, no.”

The author put a hand to his chest to still his heart.

“My God, I’m awfully glad to see you,” he exhaled with relief.

“I had a feeling that that might be the case.”

“I got lost.”

“Not so difficult to do in this house: it’s disordered, no sense to where anything lies or leads. Come along,” urged Case, “we’re right this way.” He opened a door and led Dare into yet another hallway.

“We’ve been missing you,” he said.

“I’ve been missing a tall brandy-soda. Incidentally, what’s that priest doing here?”

“What priest?”

“How would I know? Boris Karloff’s old chaplain!” Dare expostulated. “I just saw him down the hall back there.”

Case halted. “Are you serious?”

“Please don’t do that to me, Doctor.”

“Call me Gabriel,” said Case.

“I said stop that!”

“Doctor,” Case quietly amended.

“Thank you. I thought I heard this murmuring and mumbling in Latin, then I saw this tall priest walking by. You mean you don’t know who he is?”

Case mulled it over, then again began to walk. Dare followed.

“Are you Catholic, Mr. Dare?”

“Ex-Catholic.”

“Is there actually any such thing?”

“What’s your point?”

“We’re all alerted to seeing something in this house,” Case said soothingly. “Our unconscious expectations have been heightened. And you’ve heard me say some nuns were once exorcised here.”

“You’re suggesting I’ve had a papally induced hallucination?”

“I’m suggesting that you’re more of a believer than you say, and saw shadows, or, more likely, that you’re sending me up. Can you tell me which it is, Mr. Dare?”

“Let’s find a drink.”

Anna Trawley checked the time, sat down at the desk and then penned a new entry into her diary. She wrote:

It’s 5:23 p.m. I am shaken and not certain as to why I had tea with Case. My attraction grows stronger. And yet so does my sense that he is somehow a peril to me, to my soul, to my very life. When I’m near him I tremble. Isn’t that absurd? God help me, I simply cannot figure it out. Am I dotty? Yes, of course, that might explain almost everything. How easy to become insane. And yet certain odd puzzles are not of my imagining. He and Morna don’t agree on where he lives: one says close to the Columbia campus, and the other—Case himself—says far, far away. It’s too bizarre. Perhaps one of them—the girl, I would think—misunderstood me. But that’s a minor matter. The main thing is my instincts are crying out danger. And not merely from Case. I continue hearing voices, threatening, angry. I know I’m not imagining them.

They are here.

Chapter Six

Smothering, shrieking in terror, trapped in a narrow dry prison of night, Freeboard wakened abruptly from a brief, light doze and sat up on the bed with a whimpering cry. She put a hand to her forehead. It was chilly and damp. “Shit, that stupid dream again!” she