Holding the match aloft with his hand, he bent down until his face actually touched the glass. Nothing. Certain interesting chromatic effects⁠ ⁠… certain flickers and blotches of colour that was no colour, of sparkles that were opaque, of outlines that were no outlines⁠ ⁠… and then the match burnt his hand and went out. Hurriedly he lit another and held it up, his burnt hand smarting. Down went his face till his hooked nose was pressed against the glass. Sparkles, black, wavering spots, fluctuating blotches of reddish-yellow, little orbs of blackness, rimmed with lunar rings; and then again darkness! Nothing! Angrily he scrambled to his feet, and with childish petulance thrust his smarting fingers into his mouth.

“The bones are there!” he whispered huskily. “The bones are there! Aethelwolf himself! But it’s no use. We must come again by daylight. It’s one of those things that are so damnably annoying. Quick!⁠ ⁠… while the organ’s still playing! I know what these people are⁠ ⁠… so touchy about their treasures. Let’s get out of here!”