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But I saw nothing. At the moment when Holmes struck the light I

heard a low, clear whistle, but the sudden glare flashing into my

weary eyes made it impossible for me to tell what it was at which

my friend lashed so savagely. I could, however, see that his face

was deadly pale and filled with horror and loathing. He had

ceased to strike and was gazing up at the ventilator when

suddenly there broke from the silence of the night the most

horrible cry to which I have ever listened. It swelled up louder

and louder, a hoarse yell of pain and fear and anger all mingled

in the one dreadful shriek. They say that away down in the

village, and even in the distant parsonage, that cry raised the

sleepers from their beds. It struck cold to our hearts, and I

stood gazing at Holmes, and he at me, until the last echoes of it

had died away into the silence from which it rose.

"What can it mean?" I gasped.