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A man's body lay huddled together on the snow by the threshold. He was dressed like a peasant, in old corduroy trousers and rough coat, and a handkerchief was knotted round his neck. In his hand he grasped the neck of a broken bottle. Doyne set the lamp on the ground and the three bent down together over the man.
"I can't see where the comfort of that reflection comes in," said Biggleswade. "And yet you've travelled in the East," said Doyne. "I suppose you know the Valley of the Tigris as well as any man living." "Yes," said the Professor. "I can say I dug my way from Tekrit to Bagdad and left not a stone unexamined." "Perhaps, after all," Doyne remarked, "that's not quite the way to know the East."
I have some in a thermos bottle." Lord Doyne also declining the whiskey, McCurdie swallowed a dram and declared himself to be better. The Professor took from his bag a foreign review in which a German sciolist had dared to question his interpretation of a Hittite inscription. Over the man's ineptitude he fell asleep and snored loudly.
I should recognise Ody Rafferty, the widow M'Gurk, Mad Bell, old Mrs. Kilfoyle, or Stacey Doyne, if I met them face to face, just as I should know other real human creatures of a higher type, Beatrix Esmond, Becky Sharp, Meg Merrilies, or Di Vernon.
"I suppose we may as well travel down together," said Sir Angus, not very cordially. Lord Doyne said courteously: "I have a reserved carriage. The railway company is always good enough to place one at my disposal. It would give me great pleasure if you would share it." The invitation was accepted, and the three men crossed the busy, crowded platform to take their seats in the great express train.
And the three grave men stood over the wisp of flesh that had been born a male into the world. Then, their task being accomplished, reaction came, and even Doyne, who had seen death in many lands, turned faint. But the others, losing control of their nerves, shook like men stricken with palsy. Suddenly McCurdie cried in a high pitched voice, "My God!
He opened the door, peeped in, and then, returning for the lamp, disappeared, leaving McCurdie and Biggleswade in the pitch darkness, with the dead man on the floor. "For heaven's sake, give me a drop of whiskey," said the Professor, "or I shall faint." Presently the door opened and Lord Doyne appeared in the shaft of light. He beckoned to his companions.
"My wife had no child," said McCurdie. "I've avoided women all my life," said Biggleswade. "And I've been too busy to think of them. God forgive me," said Doyne. The history of the next two hours was one that none of the three men ever cared to touch upon. They did things blindly, instinctively, as men do when they come face to face with the elemental.
As they could not unclasp his fingers from the broken bottleneck they had to let him clutch it as a dead warrior clutches the hilt of his broken sword. Then suddenly the whole place was rent with another and yet another long, soul-piercing moan of anguish. "There's a second room," said Doyne, pointing to a door. "The sound comes from there."
The three men looked at one another. Suddenly McCurdie shivered and drew his fur coat around him. "I'll thank you," said he, "to shut that window." "It is shut," said Doyne. "It's just uncanny," said McCurdie, looking from one to the other. "What?" asked Doyne. "Nothing, if you didn't feel it." "There did seem to be a sudden draught," said Professor Biggleswade.
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