J. S. Fletcher,
The Gallowstree Mystery
(1924)
“ WE were turning out of the porch, where the scent of the jasmine hung thick and sweet on the night air, when the clinging silence was broken by a scream. It was a scream such as I had never heard before, have never heard since, and pray God I may never hear again: the scream of a human being in awful fear—and unmistakably the scream of a man. It clove the air with the speed of a bullet; its echo came for a sickening second from the wall of our house, and then there was silence, and Keziah clutching at the pillar of the porch. “Merciful Heavens, Ben!” ”

