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name of a well…known man who has been buried for more than a
quarter of a century； and showed me an ancient daguerreotype of
that man in his prehistoric youth。 I had seen a steel engraving of
him at the head of a double volume of Memoirs a month before； and I
felt ancient beyond telling。
The day shut in and the khansamah went to get me food。 He did not
go through the pretense of calling it 〃khana〃man's victuals。 He
said 〃ratub；〃 and that means； among other things； 〃grub〃dog's
rations。 There was no insult in his choice of the term。 He had
forgotten the other word； I suppose。
While he was cutting up the dead bodies of animals； I settled
myself down； after exploring the dak…bungalow。 There were three
rooms； beside my own； which was a corner kennel； each giving into
the other through dingy white doors fastened with long iron bars。
The bungalow was a very solid one； but the partition walls of the
rooms were almost jerry…built in their flimsiness。 Every step or
bang of a trunk echoed from my room down the other three； and every
footfall came back tremulously from the far walls。 For this reason
I shut the door。 There were no lampsonly candles in long glass
shades。 An oil wick was set in the bathroom。
For bleak； unadulterated misery that dak…bungalow was the worst of
the many that I had ever set foot in。 There was no fireplace； and
the windows would not open； so a brazier of charcoal would have
been useless。 The rain and the wind splashed and gurgled and
moaned round the house； and the toddy palms rattled and roared。
Half a dozen jackals went through the compound singing； and a hyena
stood afar off and mocked them。 A hyena would convince a Sadducee
of the Resurrection of the Deadthe worst sort of Dead。 Then came
the ratuba curious meal； half native and half English in
compositionwith the old khansamah babbling behind my chair about
dead and gone English people； and the wind…blown candles playing
shadow…bo…peep with the bed and the mosquito…curtains。 It was just
the sort of dinner and evening to make a man think of every single
one of his past sins； and of all the others that he intended to
commit if he lived。
Sleep； for several hundred reasons； was not easy。 The lamp in the
bath…room threw the most absurd shadows into the room； and the wind
was beginning to talk nonsense。
Just when the reasons were drowsy with blood…sucking I heard the
regular〃Letustakeandheavehimover〃 grunt of doolie…
bearers in the compound。 First one doolie came in； then a second；
and then a third。 I heard the doolies dumped on the ground； and
the shutter in front of my door shook。 〃That's some one trying to
come in；〃 I said。 But no one spoke； and I persuaded myself that it
was the gusty wind。 The shutter of the room next to mine was
attacked； flung back； and the inner door opened。 〃That's some Sub…
Deputy Assistant；〃 I said； 〃and he has brought his friends with
him。 Now they'll talk and spit and smoke for an hour。〃
But there were no voices and no footsteps。 No one was putting his
luggage into the next room。 The door shut； and I thanked
Providence that I was to be left in peace。 But I was curious to
know where the doolies had gone。 I got out of bed and looked into
the darkness。 There was never a sign of a doolie。 Just as I was
getting into bed again； I heard； in the next room； the sound that
no man in his senses can possibly mistakethe whir of a billiard
ball down the length of the slates when the striker is stringing
for break。 No other sound is like it。 A minute afterwards there
was another whir； and I got into bed。 I was not frightenedindeed
I was not。 I was very curious to know what had become of the
doolies。 I jumped into bed for that reason。
Next minute I heard the double click of a cannon and my hair sat
up。 It is a mistake to say that hair stands up。 The skin of the
head tightens and you can feel a faint； prickly； bristling all over
the scalp。 That is the hair sitting up。
There was a whir and a click； and both sounds could only have been
made by one thinga billiard ball。 I argued the matter out at
great length with myself； and the more I argued the less probable
it seemed that one bed； one table； and two chairsall the
furniture of the room next to minecould so exactly duplicate the
sounds of a game of billiards。 After another cannon； a three…
cushion one to judge by the whir； I argued no more。 I had found my
ghost and would have given worlds to have escaped from that dak…
bungalow。 I listened； and with each listen the game grew clearer。
There was whir on whir and click on click。 Sometimes there was a
double click and a whir and another click。 Beyond any sort of
doubt； people were playing billiards in the next room。 And the
next room was not big enough to hold a billiard table！
Between the pauses of the wind I heard the game go forwardstroke
after stroke。 I tried to believe that I could not hear voices； but
that attempt was a failure。
Do you know what fear is？ Not ordinary fear of insult； injury or
death； but abject； quivering dread of something that you cannot
seefear that dries the inside of the mouth and half of the
throatfear that makes you sweat on the palms of the hands； and
gulp in order to keep the uvula at work？ This is a fine Feara
great cowardice； and must be felt to be appreciated。 The very
improbability of billiards in a dak…bungalow proved the reality of
the thing。 No mandrunk or sobercould imagine a game at
billiards； or invent the spitting crack of a 〃screw…cannon。〃
A severe course of dak…bungalows has this disadvantageit breeds
infinite credulity。 If a man said to a confirmed dak…bungalow…
haunter：〃There is a corpse in the next room； and there's a mad
girl in the next but one； and the woman and man on that camel have
just eloped from a place sixty miles away；〃 the hearer would not
disbelieve because he would know that nothing is too wild；
grotesque； or horrible to happen in a dak…bungalow。
This credulity； unfortunately； extends to ghosts。 A rational
person fresh from his own house would have turned on his side and
slept。 I did not。 So surely as I was given up as a bad carcass by
the scores of things in the bed because the bulk of my blood was in
my heart； so surely did I hear every stroke of a long game at
billiards played in the echoing room behind the iron…barred door。
My dominant fear was that the players might want a marker。 It was
an absurd fear； because creatures who could play in the dark would
be above such superfluities。 I only know that that was my terror；
and it was real。
After a long； long while the game stopped； and the door banged。 I
slept because I was dead tired。 Otherwise I should have preferred
to have kept awake。 Not for everything in Asia would I have
dropped the door…bar and peered into the dark of the next room。
When the morning came； I considered that I had done well and
wisely； and