The Phantom Car by Fred M. White — Read

Manthon sat brooding over the maddening problem long after he had dined and seen Faber on his way back home again. In the seclusion of his library, with a lamp behind him, he sat there until the household was absolutely silent and he heard the servants fastening up before retiring for the night. He sat on until the lamp at his elbow began to flicker and smoke, and, finally, sobbed itself in the darkness. For some little time he did not realise that the lamp had gone out, and then smiled to himself as he came back to earth again.

It was no use sitting up there any longer, so he decided to go to bed. There were candles on a shelf by the door, but he did not trouble about these as he knew that somewhere on the table within reach of his arm was one of his electric torches. He fumbled for this until he found it, then pressed the button and filled the room with a shaft of light. With the torch in his hand he crept across the hall in his slippered feet and made his way silently up the broad stairs. Some of these early days he would install electric light in that rambling Georgian structure, indeed, he had threatened to do so for some time and had gone so far as to obtain estimates from one of the leading firms of electricians in Marchwick. Really, he would have to see to this, he told himself, as he stumbled over a loose stair. It was ridiculous going on like this with oil lamps, nasty smoking, smelly things with always the chance of an explosion at the hands of some careless servant.