table, I walked across the room in a leisurely manner to relight the

corner again. My first match would not strike, and as I succeeded with

the second, something seemed to blink on the wall before me. I turned my

head involuntarily and saw that the two candles on the little table by

the fireplace were extinguished. I rose at once to my feet.

Odd," I said. "Did I do that myself in a flash of absent-mindedness?"

I walked back, relit one, and as I did so I saw the candle in the

right sconce of one of the mirrors wink and go right out, and almost

immediately its companion followed it. The flames vanished as if the

wick had been suddenly nipped between a finger and thumb, leaving the

wick neither glowing nor smoking, but black. While I stood gaping the

candle at the foot of the bed went out, and the shadows seemed to take

another step toward me.

"This won't do!" said I, and first one and then another candle on the

mantelshelf followed.

"What's up?" I cried, with a queer high note getting into my voice

somehow. At that the candle on the corner of the wardrobe went out, and

the one I had relit in the alcove followed.

Steady on!" I said, "those candles are wanted," speaking with a

half-hysterical facetiousness, and scratching away at a match the

while, "for the mantel candlesticks." My hands trembled so much that

The Red Room