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This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 161 pages of information about Carnacki, the Ghost Finder.

THE GATEWAY OF THE MONSTER

In response to Carnacki’s usual card of invitation to have dinner and listen to a story, I arrived promptly at 427, Cheyne Walk, to find the three others who were always invited to these happy little times, there before me.  Five minutes later, Carnacki, Arkright, Jessop, Taylor, and I were all engaged in the “pleasant occupation” of dining.

“You’ve not been long away, this time,” I remarked, as I finished my soup; forgetting momentarily Carnacki’s dislike of being asked even to skirt the borders of his story until such time as he was ready.  Then he would not stint words.

“That’s all,” he replied, with brevity; and I changed the subject, remarking that I had been buying a new gun, to which piece of news he gave an intelligent nod, and a smile which I think showed a genuinely good-humored appreciation of my intentional changing of the conversation.

Later, when dinner was finished, Carnacki snugged himself comfortably down in his big chair, along with his pipe, and began his story, with very little circumlocution:—­

“As Dodgson was remarking just now, I’ve only been away a short time, and for a very good reason too—­I’ve only been away a short distance.  The exact locality I am afraid I must not tell you; but it is less than twenty miles from here; though, except for changing a name, that won’t spoil the story.  And it is a story too!  One of the most extraordinary things ever I have run against.

“I received a letter a fortnight ago from a man I must call Anderson, asking for an appointment.  I arranged a time, and when he came, I found that he wished me to investigate and see whether I could not clear up a long-standing and well—­too well—­authenticated case of what he termed ‘haunting.’  He gave me very full particulars, and, finally, as the case seemed to present something unique, I decided to take it up.

“Two days later, I drove to the house late in the afternoon.  I found it a very old place, standing quite alone in its own grounds.  Anderson had left a letter with the butler, I found, pleading excuses for his absence, and leaving the whole house at my disposal for my investigations.  The butler evidently knew the object of my visit, and I questioned him pretty thoroughly during dinner, which I had in rather lonely state.  He is an old and privileged servant, and had the history of the Grey Room exact in detail.  From him I learned more particulars regarding two things that Anderson had mentioned in but a casual manner.  The first was that the door of the Grey Room would be heard in the dead of night to open, and slam heavily, and this even though the butler knew it was locked, and the key on the bunch in his pantry.  The second was that the bedclothes would always be found torn off the bed, and hurled in a heap into a corner.

“But it was the door slamming that chiefly bothered the old butler.  Many and many a time, he told me, had he lain awake and just got shivering with fright, listening; for sometimes the door would be slammed time after time—­thud! thud! thud!—­so that sleep was impossible.

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