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Updated: May 15, 2025
The situation was grotesque, utterly bizarre; but even my sense of humour could not save me from the growing dread which this seemingly deserted place poured into my heart. When upon the right I heard a faint rustling I started, and grasped the revolver in my pocket. "Not a sound!" came in Carneta's voice. "Keep just inside the bushes and come this way. There is something I want to show you."
When the invitation came from my old friend Hilton to spend a week "roughing it" with him in Warwickshire I accepted with alacrity. If ever a man needed a holiday I was that man. Nervous breakdown threatened me at any moment; the ghastly experience at the Gate House together with Carneta's grief-stricken face when I had parted from her were obsessing memories which I sought in vain to shake off.
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