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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-14 18:40:28 -0700 |
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margin-left: 2em;} + strong {font-weight: bold;} + .tnote {background-color: #eeeeee;} + .covernote {visibility: visible; display: block; background-color: #eeeeee;} +} + + </style> + </head> +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 44397 ***</div> + +<div class="covernote"> +<p class="tn">Transcriber’s note</p> +<p>The cover image was created by the transcriber and is placed in the +public domain.</p> + +<p>A more detailed transcriber’s note can be found at the end of +this document.</p> +</div> + +<p class="ttl"> +HAUNTED PLACES<br /> +IN ENGLAND +</p> + +<hr class="l2" /> + +<h1> +HAUNTED PLACES<br /> +IN ENGLAND +</h1> + +<p class="tp1"> +BY<br /> +<br /> +<span class="f18">ELLIOT O’DONNELL</span><br /> +</p> + +<p class="tp2"> +AUTHOR OF<br /> +“SOME HAUNTED HOUSES OF ENGLAND AND WALES”<br /> +“TWENTY YEARS’ EXPERIENCE AS A GHOST HUNTER”<br /> +ETC. ETC. +</p> + +<p class="tp3"> +LONDON<br /> +<span class="f11">SANDS & CO.</span><br /> +<span class="f9">15 KING STREET, COVENT GARDEN<br /> +1919</span><br /> +</p> + +<hr class="l2" /> + + +<h2 class="f11"><a name="PREFACE" id="PREFACE"></a>PREFACE</h2> + + +<p class="tp4"><span class="smcap">In</span> presenting this volume to the Public, I wish +to emphasise the fact that all the names of +people and houses mentioned in it (saving in +Chapter X.), in connection with the hauntings, are +fictitious.</p> + +<p class="right">ELLIOT O’DONNELL.</p> + +<p><i>May 5, 1917.</i></p> + +<hr class="l2" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span></p> + + +<h2 class="f11"><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS"></a>CONTENTS</h2> + + +<div class="center"> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="contents"> +<tr> + <th>CHAP.</th> + <th> </th> + <th>PAGE</th> +</tr><tr> + <td class="col1">I.</td> + <td class="col2">The Chair</td> + <td class="col3"><a href="#CHAPTER_I">7</a></td> +</tr><tr> + <td class="col1">II.</td> + <td class="col2">The Head</td> + <td class="col3"><a href="#CHAPTER_II">26</a></td> +</tr><tr> + <td class="col1">III.</td> + <td class="col2">The Cupboard</td> + <td class="col3"><a href="#CHAPTER_III">39</a></td> +</tr><tr> + <td class="col1">IV.</td> + <td class="col2">The Empty Leash</td> + <td class="col3"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">52</a></td> +</tr><tr> + <td class="col1">V.</td> + <td class="col2">The Dressing-Room</td> + <td class="col3"><a href="#CHAPTER_V">63</a></td> +</tr><tr> + <td class="col1">VI.</td> + <td class="col2">The Reticule</td> + <td class="col3"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">77</a></td> +</tr><tr> + <td class="col1">VII.</td> + <td class="col2">The Coombe</td> + <td class="col3"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">95</a></td> +</tr><tr> + <td class="col1">VIII.</td> + <td class="col2">The Trunk</td> + <td class="col3"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">110</a></td> +</tr><tr> + <td class="col1">IX.</td> + <td class="col2">The Cough</td> + <td class="col3"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">124</a></td> +</tr><tr> + <td class="col1">X.</td> + <td class="col2">The Syderstone Hauntings</td> + <td class="col3"><a href="#CHAPTER_X">132</a></td> +</tr><tr> + <td class="col1">XI.</td> + <td class="col2">The Green Vapour</td> + <td class="col3"><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">161</a></td> +</tr><tr> + <td class="col1">XII.</td> + <td class="col2">The Stepping-Stones</td> + <td class="col3"><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">188</a></td> +</tr><tr> + <td class="col1">XIII.</td> + <td class="col2">The Pines</td> + <td class="col3"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">213</a></td> +</tr> +</table></div> + +<hr class="l1" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a><br /><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span></p> + + +<p class="ttl1">HAUNTED PLACES IN<br /> +ENGLAND</p> + + +<h2 class="fst"><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a><span class="g">CHAPTER I</span><br /> +<br /> +THE CHAIR<br /> +<br /> +<span class="f8">THE CASE OF A HAUNTED HOUSE IN RED LION +SQUARE</span></h2> + + +<p><span class="smcap">I am</span> not a psychometrist—at least not to any great +extent. I cannot pick up a small object—say an +old ring or coin—and straightway tell you its +history, describing all the people and incidents +with which it has been associated. Yet, occasionally, +odd things are revealed to me through some +strange ornament or piece of furniture.</p> + +<p>The other day I went to see a friend, who was +staying in a flat near Sloane Square, and I was +much impressed by a chair that stood on the +hearthrug near the fire. Now I am not a connoisseur +of chairs; I cannot always ascribe dates +to them. I can, of course, tell whether they are +oak or mahogany, Chippendale or Sheraton, but +that is about all. It was not, however, the make +or the shape of this chair that attracted me, it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span> +was the impression I had that something very +uncanny was seated on it. My friend, noticing +that I looked at it very intently, said: “I will +tell you something very interesting about that +chair. It came from a haunted house in Red Lion +Square. I bought it at a sale there, and several +people who have sat in it since have had very +curious experiences. I won’t tell you them till +after you’ve tried it. Sit in it.”</p> + +<p>“That wouldn’t be any good,” I answered; +“you know I can’t psychometrise, especially to +order. May I take it home with me for a few +nights?”</p> + +<p>My friend smilingly assented.</p> + +<p>The chair was put in a taxi, and in less than +half an hour was safely lodged in my chambers. +I was living alone just then, for my wife had been +suddenly called away to the country, to the bedside +of an aged and ailing relative. I say alone, +but I had company—a lady tabby that, apparently +abandoned by her lover, persisted in showering +her attentions upon me. For hours at a time +she would perch on the writing-table in my bedroom, +whilst I was at work, and fix me amorously +with her big green eyes.</p> + +<p>The moment, however, this most eccentric of +feline beauties perceived the chair, she sprang off +her pedestal and dived under the bed; and from +that hour to this I have never seen her. The +chair did not frighten me, but it brought a new, +and I cannot say altogether pleasant, atmosphere +into the place. When I was in bed and the gas was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span> +out, I could swear the chair moved, that it shifted +nearer and nearer the window—always the window, +as if it was most anxious to make its escape and +hie back to its old home. And again there were +times when, barred from this avenue of escape, +it rocked. Yes, I could distinctly hear it rock +backwards and forwards on the parquet floor with +ever increasing rapidity and violence, as though +blind with fury at being balked. And then, +again, it groaned, groaned in the deepest and +most hopeless misery—misery that the eternally +damned alone can know and suffer. Certain now +that there was something there that badly needed +human consolation, I addressed the chair, and, +failing to get any verbal answer from it, I tried +a code of raps. That failing, I sat in it for several +hours two successive nights, and experimented in +automatic writing. The result was nil. Resolving +to give it another trial, but this time without a +planchette, I chose a Friday night when the moon +was in the crescent, and placing the chair on one +side the hearth, facing the window, I threw myself +back in it and closed my eyes. For some +minutes I was still vividly conscious of the old +surroundings: the flickering fire flames—seen +through my closed lids; the old grandfather +clock on the landing outside solemnly ticking; the +eternal whistling and hooting of the taxis as they +whizzed along in the street beneath.</p> + +<p>Then by degrees, quite imperceptibly, I lost +cognisance of all these things; and, intuitively, I +began to feel the presence of something strange<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span> +and wholly novel in the room. I felt it steal +forth from a piece of dark and ancient tapestry +my wife had hung on the wall. It was merely a +shadow, an undefined shadow, a shadow such as +the moon, when very low in the heavens, might +possibly fashion from the figure of a man; but +yet it was not a man, nor a woman, nor anything +with which I was in any way familiar. For a +moment it stood still, watching me from its vague, +formless, indefinite eyes. Then it made a forward +movement, stood still again, and yet once again +advanced.</p> + +<p>Coming up behind my chair, it bent low over me, +and placing its long, cool spirit hands over my +eyelids, imparted to me a steadily increasing sense +of numbness. All thought was gradually annihilated; +it was succeeded by a blank, just such a +blank as suddenly comes to one when in the hands +of the anæsthetist. Now, up to this evening, I had +presumed, as nearly everybody does presume, that, +in the case of mental blanks, every particle of consciousness +is lost, totally arrested, and held, for +the time being, in complete subjection. But on +this occasion—at the very moment memory reasserted +itself—I had recollections of some great +metempsychosis, some stupendous change in my +entire constitution, a change that affected all that +we term mind, and spirit, and soul.</p> + +<p>I struggled earnestly and desperately to recall +the exact nature and process of that change, which +I now believe underlies all so-called blanks, and I +achieved this much: I recalled travel—a mad,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span> +rushing plunge or descent into something—something +quite different from anything I had known +before—a descent into some plane, or sphere, or +condition, wholly and completely apart from the +physical, and what is generally understood and +classified as the mental plane, sphere, or condition. +In my efforts to recollect, I have arrived at that +same pitch since; but whenever I have been on +the verge of getting beyond it, of forcing back a +minute recollection of how that metempsychosis +was enacted, of all the stages in it, there has been a +lapse—my memory has dimmed. Yet brief and +slight as these remembrances have been, they have +assured me of one great truth, namely—that the +state of blank never actually exists. Some part +of us—the part that alone retains consciousness—is +extracted and borne far away from the actual +material body; but on its return, on its reunion +with the physical—with our gross and carnal, +earthly self—all memory of this delicate and finely +poised consciousness is at once swallowed up and +obliterated. If such were not the case, if everything +were indeed a blank, and the spiritual as +well as the material part of us were suspended +during what we term unconsciousness, we should +be forced to the conclusion that the soul has no +separate existence, that it cannot survive the body, +and that the immortality of man, the infinite +perpetuation of our identity, in which we have so +fondly believed, is but a chimera. I am, however, +certain—I could, if need be, swear to it—that even +in the deepest slumber, in the wildest delirium, in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span> +the most seemingly omnipotent and annihilating +blank, all is not lost, something remains, and +that something is the psychic and spiritual consciousness, +the very thing that constitutes what +we term soul. In the first stage, then, of my cognisance +of thought, again I struggled with memory, +and the struggle overcoming me, I gradually lapsed +into the mere consciousness of existence without +thought. How long this condition lasted I cannot +say, but with startling abruptness thought +returned, and I became madly anxious to ascertain +my present state—how it differed from my former—and +my whereabouts. I was conscious of sound +and light and motion, but conscious of them merely +from the point of observation, as things quite outside +myself—things that in no way sensibly affected +me. What particularly impressed me was the +silence—the passivity—of what, I believed, constituted +my body. I could detect no heart movement, +no pulsation whatever. I seemed to be +there—to have a very familiar form—but to be +nothing more than form—to have no tangibility. +So far my eyes had seen; but, purposely, I had not +allowed myself to discriminate objects. I was +intuitively certain my power of vision had become +supernormal; and I dreaded to employ it for fear +I should see too much—too acutely. I had a +stupendous sense of impending horror. At length, +however, I was impelled by an irresistible fascination +to look. I did so, and in an instant became +the spectator of a drama. Before me, seated at a +grimy wooden table, were two men, clad in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span> +fascinating garb of the latter part of the eighteenth +century—long coat, befrilled vest, knee breeches, +and peruke. Two mugs of ale were placed in front +of them, and the one man kept on sipping, while +the other, seldom touching the ale, took long and +vigorous puffs at a pipe. The room had a very +low ceiling, blackened with smoke, and traversed +by enormous oaken beams; a chimney corner, in +which sat an old man, munching something out of +a very dirty-looking bag, and, at the same time, +taking occasional pinches of snuff; and a couch, +stowed away in one corner, and piled several feet +high with a variety of books, papers, cushions, and +wearing apparel.</p> + +<p>The general atmosphere of the place suggested +an inn or tavern. It was with the two men in the +foreground, however, that something told me I +was most concerned. They appeared to be about +the same age and of the same class; but there all +similarity ended. The one was tall and thin, with +dark, deep-set, and very restless eyes—and oddly +noticeable hands. They were large and sinewy, with +peculiarly long fingers and protruding knuckles. +His companion was small and shrivelled, with +watery blue eyes and a particularly weak mouth.</p> + +<p>“Strange we should meet like this, John,” the +shorter of the two remarked, taking a big gulp of +ale. “Ten years since we last saw one another, +and that was in Bristol. Do you recollect the +occasion?”</p> + +<p>“Do I recollect it?” the other responded. +“Can I ever forget it? You had just come from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span> +her. She had accepted you. Money, of course. +I had nothing to offer her but love. Love! +What’s the good of love without prospects?”</p> + +<p>“It was a fair fight, John.”</p> + +<p>“Fair fight, Wilfred!” John replied. “You +may call it fair, if you like, but I don’t. What +chance had I when you pointed to your bank-book +and said, ‘If I die I can settle all that on her’? I +could promise nothing. I hadn’t a cent in the +world beyond my weekly pay. Thirty shillings. +And how pleased you were with yourself when you +came to see me that last evening in Bristol. Do +you remember what you said? ‘It’s the fortune +of war, my boy. You’ll soon get over it. Work.’ +As if I didn’t work! But I took your advice, +though I hated you for it; and I left Bristol. +After what had happened I loathed the place. An +uncle of mine offered me a clerkship in his office +in Holborn, and I stuck so hard to my job that I +eventually became a partner.”</p> + +<p>“Then you’re a rich man, John?”</p> + +<p>“Comfortable, but not rich, Wilfred.”</p> + +<p>“And you’ve forgiven me? Got over that +little love affair, eh? Well, well. Matrimony is +not all bliss, John. At least that was my experience. +Poor Jenny! But of course I have not +told you. I’m much to be pitied, John.”</p> + +<p>“She’s dead!”</p> + +<p>“She is,” Wilfred said, filling his mug with ale +and raising it to his lips, “and I’m a lonely widower. +But how did you know?”</p> + +<p>“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” John<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span> +replied. “I get my information through channels +that are barred to men like you.”</p> + +<p>“Witchcraft, I suppose,” Wilfred said, with a +sneer. “But why this mystery? Someone in +Bristol city wrote to you.”</p> + +<p>“No, they didn’t,” John answered. “I know +no one in Bristol city now. Your first suggestion +was nearer the truth. Your wife, Wilfred, often +comes to see me. I know all about the way in which +you treated her.”</p> + +<p>“The way in which I treated her!” Wilfred +cried, starting upright in his chair, his face flushing +angrily. “God’s truth, man, what do you mean +by such a statement?”</p> + +<p>“I mean exactly what I say,” John answered. +“For the first two years you treated her tolerably +well. Then someone else caught your fancy. +Jenny was neglected, despised, and on one occasion +actually beaten.”</p> + +<p>“It’s a lie!” Wilfred gasped, springing to his feet, +as if to leave the table.</p> + +<p>“No, it’s not,” John retorted, “and you know +it. Come, sit down, man, and go on drinking. +Love never was in your line, drink is. Besides, as +you say, she’s dead, and what’s the use of quarrelling +over a corpse, even though she were beautiful +as—as——” He didn’t finish his sentence, but +leaning forward thrust Wilfred back into his +chair.</p> + +<p>For some seconds the two men sat and looked at +one another—Wilfred sullen, frightened, and resentful; +John imperturbable save for the perpetual<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span> +restless movement of his eyes, and an occasional +peculiar twitching of his upper lip and hands.</p> + +<p>“A rum,” John said at length, “or a gin? Or +both?”</p> + +<p>“Rum.”</p> + +<p>“Very good, let it be rum.” He called the +waiter, and a rum was served.</p> + +<p>“You’re not drinking to-day, John,” Wilfred +remarked, taking a long pull at the rum and looking +more amiable.</p> + +<p>“No, I’m quite off spirits,” John replied—“at +least, spirits of that kind.”</p> + +<p>“Spirits of that kind!” Wilfred sniggered. “Why, +whatever other kind of spirits are there? What a +mysterious fellow you are, John.”</p> + +<p>“Am I?” John laughed. “Perhaps I’ve reason +to be. I live in a big house, all alone, in Red Lion +Square.”</p> + +<p>“New houses, aren’t they?” Wilfred commented. +“And big rents?”</p> + +<p>John nodded, the same nod answering apparently +both questions.</p> + +<p>“But you haven’t told me yet,” Wilfred went on, +“how you knew Jenny was dead.”</p> + +<p>“I’ve seen her,” John said very quietly. “She +comes to me regularly.”</p> + +<p>“Seen her? Comes to you regularly? You must +be mad, John—mad or hoaxing. How can you +see her, and why should she come to you?”</p> + +<p>John shrugged his shoulders.</p> + +<p>“I told you you wouldn’t believe me,” he replied. +“No one does. Yet I can swear to you it’s true.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span> +She appeared to me last night and told me you +would be here this afternoon. That is how I +happened to meet you.”</p> + +<p>“You overwork yourself, John,” Wilfred said, +taking another long pull at the rum. “Too much +work is just as harmful to one’s temperament and +chances in life as too little. Moderation, my +boy, moderation, I say. That’s always been my +keynote. I should like to see this house of yours.”</p> + +<p>“You shall,” John said, “and the spirits. Not +hers—I don’t think you will see hers—but the rum +and brandy. I’ve excellent brands of both—smuggled +over from abroad last week.”</p> + +<p>“And yet you don’t drink!”</p> + +<p>“No, I got them in entirely for your benefit. +Come. We will go to my house. It’s more comfortable +than here. A big fire, nice easy chairs, +tobacco, and bottles—bottles with plenty in them.”</p> + +<p>“And you’ve forgiven me, John?”</p> + +<p>“Forgiven you!” John replied, rising from the +table and putting on his hat. “Forgiven you! +Do you think I should ask you round to my house, +to drink the best vintage London can offer you, +if I hadn’t? Come. Come along at once.”</p> + +<p>Wilfred rose with some difficulty from his seat, +and the two men went out into the street. The +scene then changed, and I found myself in a big, +gloomy house, following them up a long flight of +wooden stairs.</p> + +<p>The moment I entered the house I became the +victim of an anomalous species of fear. I saw +nothing, but I instinctively knew that strange,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span> +indefinable presences were there, watching us with +sphinx-like faces. I felt them, standing in the doorways, +lurking in the angles of the hall and landings, +and peering down at us from over the balustrades. +I felt that they were merely critical at present, +merely deliberating what attitude they should +adopt towards us; and I felt that the whole atmosphere +of the house was impregnated with a sense +of the utmost mystery—a mystery soluble only +to those belonging, in the truest sense, to the +spirit world—Neutrarians—spirit entities generated +solely from spirit essence and never incarcerated +in any material body—spirits initiated into one and +all of the idiosyncrasies of spirit land. The man +John gave no outward signs of being in any way +affected by these presences; but it was otherwise +with Wilfred. The silence and darkness of the +house unmistakably disturbed him, and as he +panted up the staircase, following his long and lean +host with none too steady a step, he cast continual +looks of apprehension about him. First, I saw him +peer over his shoulders, down the stairs behind him, +as if he fancied something, to which he could apply +no name, might be treading softly at his heels; +then I watched his eyes wander nervously to the +gloomy space overhead; and then, as if drawn by +some extremely unwelcome magnet, to the great, +white, sinewy hands of John. Arriving on the +second floor, they crossed a broad landing and +entered a spacious room, which was fitfully illuminated +by a few dying embers in a large open grate. +John produced a tinder box, lighted a trio of tall<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span> +wax candles, and resuscitated the fire. He then +left the room, reappearing in a few minutes with +an armload of bottles.</p> + +<p>“Make yourself comfortable, Wilfred,” he said. +“Take that easy chair and pull it up in front of the +fire. Rum or brandy?”</p> + +<p>Wilfred, whose eyes glittered at the sight of the +spirits, chose rum. “I’ll have a little brandy +afterwards,” he said, “just to wash down the +rum. Moderation is my password, John, everything +in moderation,” and, helping himself to the +rum, he laughed. John sat opposite him, and I +noticed, not without some emotion, that the chair +he took was the exact counterpart of the one in +which I had left my material ego.</p> + +<p>“John,” Wilfred exclaimed after a while, “this +house is most extraordinarily still. I—I don’t like +such stillness——” He was more than half drunk. +“Why do you live alone? Damned silly habit to +live alone in a house like this.” Then he swallowed +a big gulp of rum and leered.</p> + +<p>“All habits are silly,” John replied. “All life +is silly. Death alone is sensible. Death’s a fine +thing.”</p> + +<p>Then there was a pause; and a gust of wind, +blowing up the staircase, set the door jarring and +made the windows rattle.</p> + +<p>“I don’t like that remark of yours, John,” +Wilfred suddenly stuttered. “Death’s a fine +thing?—Death’s the work of the devil. It’s the +only thing I fear. And the—the wind. What’s +that?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span></p> + +<p>From the hall below there came a gentle slam, +the soft closing of a door.</p> + +<p>John shrugged his shoulders and stirred the logs +until they gave out a big blaze.</p> + +<p>“It’s a noise,” he said. “This house is full of +noises. Every house is full of noises, if only you +take the trouble to listen for them.”</p> + +<p>Another pause, and Wilfred helped himself to some +brandy.</p> + +<p>“Noises, like women,” he said, “want keeping +in their places. They’ve no business wandering +about on nights like this. Hark!”</p> + +<p>The faintest sound possible broke the stillness +of the house; but it suggested much. To me it +was like a light, bounding footfall on the first flight +of stairs, those nearest the hall.</p> + +<p>After listening a moment John spoke. “It’s +only Jenny,” he said; “at least, I fancy it’s only +Jenny. But there are others. God alone knows +whence they come or why. The house at times is +full of them. So far I have only felt their presence—and +heard. Pray to Heaven I may never see +them—at least, not some. Do you hear that?”</p> + +<p>There was a gentle rustling on the landing, a +swishing, such as might have been caused by someone +in a silk dress with a long train.</p> + +<p>“It is—it’s Jenny!” John went on. “I told +you—she comes every night.”</p> + +<p>Wilfred made no reply, but the hand that held +the glass shook so much that the brandy ran over +and splashed on the floor.</p> + +<p>There was again silence, then a creak, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span> +faint but very unmistakable turning of a door +handle.</p> + +<p>Wilfred’s face blanched. He tried to look round, +but dared not.</p> + +<p>“I’m afraid too,” John murmured, his teeth +slightly chattering. “I never can get over my +initial terror when she first arrives. God! What +horror I have known since I lived here.”</p> + +<p>The latch of the door gave a click, the sort of +click it always gives when the door springs open, +and a current of icy air blew across the room and +fanned the cheeks of both men. Wilfred attempted +to speak, but his voice died away in his throat. +He glanced at the window. It was closed with +heavy wooden shutters.</p> + +<p>“It’s no use,” John sighed, “there’s no escape +that way. Make up your mind to face it—face +<span class="f8">HER</span>. Ah!” He sank back as he spoke and +closed his eyes.</p> + +<p>I looked at Wilfred. His vertebrae had totally +collapsed; he sat all huddled up in his chair, his +weak, watery eyes bulging with terror, and the +brandy trickling down his chin on to his cravat. +All this scene, I must tell you, was to me most +vivid, most acutely vivid, although I was but a +passive participator in it. The same feeling that +had possessed me on my entrance into the house +was with me even in a greater measure now. I +felt that pressing on the heels of this wind, this +icy blast of air, were the things from the halls and +landings, the distractingly enigmatical and ever-deliberating +things. I felt them come crowding<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span> +into the room; felt them once again watching. +Something now seemed to go wrong with the +wicks of all three candles; they burned very low, +and the feeble, flickering light they emitted was of +a peculiar bluish white. While I was engaged in +pondering over this phenomenon my eye caught +a sudden movement in the room, and I saw what +looked like a cylindrical pillar of mist sweep across +the floor and halt behind John. It remained +standing at the back of his chair for a second or +so, and then, retracing its way across the floor, +disappeared through the door, which, opening +wide to meet it, closed again with a loud bang. +John opened his eyes and reaching forward poured +himself out some brandy.</p> + +<p>“I told you I didn’t drink spirits,” he said, +“but her visit to-night has made a difference. +Come, Wilfred, pull yourself together. The ghosts—at +least her ghost has gone; and as for the others, +well, they don’t count. Even you may get used +to them in time. Come, come, be a man. For +a sceptic, a confirmed sceptic, I never saw anyone +so frightened.”</p> + +<p>Appealed to thus, Wilfred slowly straightened +himself out, and peeping round furtively at the +door, as if to make sure it really was shut, he helped +himself to some more brandy. John leaned forward +and regarded him earnestly. After some +minutes Wilfred spoke.</p> + +<p>“Those candles,” he said, “why don’t they +burn properly? I have never seen candles behave in +that fashion before. John, I don’t like this house.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span></p> + +<p>John laughed. “Matter of taste and habit,” +he said. “I didn’t like it at first, but I like it +now.”</p> + +<p>Another pause, and then John said suddenly, +“More brandy, Wilfred?”</p> + +<p>“No, I’ve had enough,” Wilfred replied, “enough. +John, I must be going home. See me to the door, +John; the front door, I mean, John. See me to +the door, there’s a good fellow.” He tried to rise, +but John put out one hand and pushed him gently +back into his seat.</p> + +<p>“It’s early yet,” John said, “far too early to +go home. Think what a long time it is since we +last met. Ten whole years. To some people +almost a lifetime. Are you tired of life, Wilfred?”</p> + +<p>“Tired of life?” Wilfred echoed. “Tired of +brandy, perhaps, but not of life. What a question +to ask! Why?” And again glancing furtively +at the door he tried to rise.</p> + +<p>Once more John put out his hand and thrust him +back. “Not yet,” he said; “the hour is far too +early. What were we talking about? Being tired +of life. Of course you are not. How foolish of me +to ask you such a thing! You who are so rich, +respected, admired, beloved. You are happy in +spite of your sad bereavement. You are a man to +be missed. With me it is otherwise. I long to go +to the spirit land, for it is there only I have friends, +really genuine, loving friends. I am not afraid to die. +I want death. I yearn for it. Yearn for it, Wilfred.”</p> + +<p>“Spirits! Death! Always spirits and death +in your company,” Wilfred responded. “Let’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span> +talk of something else—something more cheerful. +I want cheering, John. This house of yours is +depressing—most horribly depressing. You say it +is new?”</p> + +<p>“Comparatively new,” John replied, and he +started fumbling in his vest pocket.</p> + +<p>“Comparatively new,” Wilfred repeated, his +eyes watching John’s fingers attentively,—“and +it has ghosts. Why, I thought it was only old +houses that were haunted.”</p> + +<p>John chuckled. “So people say,” he replied, +“and they tell me I am mad to think there are +ghosts here. They say it is impossible. What is +your opinion, Wilfred?”</p> + +<p>“Why,” Wilfred said, watching John’s movements +with increasing interest, “that’s my opinion +too. A house to be haunted must have a history. +And this house has none, has it? John!” The +last syllable was uttered in an altogether different +tone. It was not the voice of a drunken man.</p> + +<p>For a brief moment John hesitated, trembled. He +seemed to be in the throes of some great mental +strain, some acute psychological crisis. But he +speedily overcame it, and drawing his hand out +suddenly from his vest, he produced a huge, murderous-looking +clasp knife.</p> + +<p>“True!” he said, “true. So far this house has +no history. No history whatever. But it will +have one, Wilfred. It will.” And baring the blade +of his formidable weapon, he crouched low and +crept forward.</p> + +<p class="dots">.<span class="dot">.</span><span class="dot">.</span><span class="dot">.</span><span class="dot">.</span><span class="dot">.</span><span class="dot">.</span></p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span></p> + +<p>The next day I took the chair back to its owner. +I had had enough of it—quite enough; and I told +him my experiences.</p> + +<p>“Odd!” he said, “very odd. The impressions +you received when sitting in the chair are almost +identical with those of the other people who have +sat in it. I wonder if a murder did actually take +place in that house? I shouldn’t be at all surprised. +There is an old stain on the floor of one +of the rooms on the second landing, and they say +that, despite the most vigorous washing, it still +retains its colour—red, blood-red.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span></p> + + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a><span class="g">CHAPTER II</span><br /> +<br /> +THE HEAD<br /> +<br /> +<span class="f8">A DERBYSHIRE HAUNTING</span></h2> + + +<p><span class="smcap">Some</span> few years ago, two men were trudging along +a road, not twenty miles from Sudbury, swearing +heartily. It was not the first time they had sworn, +not by any means, but it is extremely doubtful if +either of them had ever sworn before quite so vehemently. +There were, one must admit, extenuating +circumstances. Having missed the last train, they +were obliged to walk home, a distance of twelve +or more miles, and having been overtaken by a rainstorm, +they were soaked to the skin. True, the +rain had now ceased, but as they had covered only +six miles, they still had six more to go, and at every +step they took, the water in their boots soaked +through their socks and squished between their +toes. Just as they arrived at a spot where the road +swerved a little to their left and took a sudden dip, +a clock from a distance solemnly chimed twelve.</p> + +<p>The younger of the two men came to a halt and +lighted his pipe. “Hold on a minute, Brown,” +he shouted; “I can’t keep up this infernal pace +any longer. Let’s take an easy.”</p> + +<p>Brown turned and joined his companion, who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span> +had seated himself on a wooden gate. Below them, +in the dip, the darkness was sepulchral. The +hedges on either side the road were of immense +height; and high above them rose the trunks of +giant pines and larches, the intertwining branches of +which formed an archway that completely obliterated +the sky. A faint speck of light from afar +flickered occasionally, as if through a gap in the +foliage; but, apart from this, the men could see +nothing—nothing but blackness.</p> + +<p>“A cheerful spot!” Brown remarked, “as gloomy +a bit of road as I’ve ever seen. And how quiet!”</p> + +<p>The other man blew his nose. “Not so quiet +now,” he laughed, “but how everything echoes! +What’s that? Water?”</p> + +<p>Both men looked, and, apparently, from the +other side of the hedge, came the gentle gurgle of +quick flowing water.</p> + +<p>“Must be a spring,” Brown observed, “flowing +into some stream in the hollow. The darkness suggests +the Styx. A match, if you please, Reynolds.”</p> + +<p>Reynolds gave him one, and for awhile the two +men puffed away in silence.</p> + +<p>Suddenly something whizzed overhead; and they +heard the prolonged, dismal hooting of an owl.</p> + +<p>“This is getting a bit too eerie, even for my liking, +Brown,” Reynolds remarked; “supposing we move +on. I always associate noises like that with a +death.”</p> + +<p>“I wish it were my mother-in-law’s,” Brown +laughed, “or my own. But there’s no such luck. +I’m cold.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span></p> + +<p>“So am I,” Reynolds replied. “Deuced cold! +Come on, do!”</p> + +<p>He slid off the gate as he spoke and strode into +the centre of the road.</p> + +<p>The moon, temporarily unveiled, revealed as wet +a landscape as one could possibly imagine. Everything +dripped water—bushes, trees, ferns, grass, +hats, clothes—whilst every rut of the road, every +particle of soil, shone wet in the moon’s rays. A +deep, settled calm permeated the atmosphere. It +was the stillness of night and moisture combined.</p> + +<p>“What’s the matter? Aren’t you coming?” +Brown asked impatiently.</p> + +<p>“One moment,” Reynolds replied. “I believe +I heard footsteps. Hark! I thought so, they’re +coming this way! Someone else lost their train, +perhaps.”</p> + +<p>Brown listened, and he, too, distinctly heard the +sound of footsteps—high-heeled shoes walking +along with a sharp, springy action, as if the road +were absolutely hard and dry.</p> + +<p>“A woman!” he ejaculated. “Odd hour for +a woman to be out here.”</p> + +<p>Brown laughed. “Pooh!” he said. “Women +are afraid of nothing nowadays except old age. +Hullo! Here she comes!”</p> + +<p>As he spoke the figure of a woman—slight and +supple, and apparently young—shot into view, and +came rapidly towards them.</p> + +<p>Her dress, though quaint and pretty, was not +particularly striking; but her feet, clad in patent +leather shoes, with buckles that shone brightly in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span> +the moonlight, were oddly conspicuous, in spite of +the fact that they were small and partially hidden +’neath a skirt which was long and frilled, and not at +all in accordance with the present fashion. Something +about her prevented both men from speaking, +and they involuntarily moved nearer to one another +as she approached. On and on she came, tripping +along, and never varying her pace. Now in a zone +of moonlight, now in the dark belt of shadows +from the firs and larches, she drew nearer and +nearer. Through the hedge, Brown could dimly +perceive the figure of a cow, immensely magnified, +standing dumb and motionless, apparently +lost, like he was, in spellbound observation. The +silence kept on intensifying. Not a breath of air, +not a leaf stirring, not a sound from Reynolds, +who stood with arms folded like a statue; only +the subdued trickle, trickle of the spring, and the +hard tap, tap, tap of the flashing, sparkling shoes.</p> + +<p>At last the woman was abreast of them. They +shrank back and back, pressing farther and farther +into the hedge, so close that the sharp twigs and +brambles scratched their faces and tore their +clothes. She passed. Down, down, down, still +tripping daintily, until the sepulchral blackness of +the dip swallowed her up. They could still hear +her tap, tap, tap; and for some seconds neither +spoke. Then Reynolds, releasing his clothes from +the thorns, muttered huskily: “At last I’ve seen +a ghost, and I always scoffed at them.”</p> + +<p>“But her head!” Brown ejaculated, “where +was it?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Don’t ask me,” Reynolds replied, his teeth +chattering. “She had no head. At least I didn’t +see any. Dare you go on?”</p> + +<p>“What, down there?” Brown said, nodding +in the direction of the dip.</p> + +<p>“Well, we must, if we are to get home to-night,” +Reynolds retorted, “and I’m frozen.”</p> + +<p>“Wait till that noise ceases, then,” Brown answered. +“I can’t stand seeing a thing like that +twice in one night.”</p> + +<p>They stood still and listened, until the tapping +gradually died away in the far distance, and the +only sound to be heard was that of the water, +the eternal, never ceasing, never varying sound of +the water. Then they ran—ran as they had never +run since long ago Rugby days—down through the +inky darkness of the hollow and out—far out into +the brightness of the great stretch of flat country +beyond; and, all the time they ran, they neither +looked to the right nor to the left, but always on +the ground just ahead of them.</p> + +<p class="dots">.<span class="dot">.</span><span class="dot">.</span><span class="dot">.</span><span class="dot">.</span><span class="dot">.</span><span class="dot">.</span></p> + +<p>For a week the horror of what they had seen was +so great that neither of the two men could bear to +be alone in the dark; and they kept a light in their +respective rooms all night. Then a strange thing +happened. Brown became infatuated, he did +nothing but rave, all day, about the ghost. She +had the prettiest figure, the whitest hands, the +daintiest feet he had ever seen, and he was sure her +face must be equally lovely. Why couldn’t he see +it? There was nothing about the neck to show<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span> +she had been decapitated, and yet the head was +missing. Why?</p> + +<p>He worried Reynolds to death about it, and he +gave no one else any peace. That waist, those delicate +white fingers, those rosy, almond-shaped nails, +those scintillating shoe buckles! They got on his +brain. They obsessed him. He was like a maniac.</p> + +<p>At last, at the suggestion of Reynolds, who +wanted to get rid of him for awhile, he came up to +London and paid visits to most of the professional +mediums and occultists in the West End.</p> + +<p>Some advised him one thing, and some another. +Some immediately went into trances and learned +from their controlling spirits all about the headless +phantom, who she was, why she paraded the high +road, and what had become of her head. But it +was significant that no two told him alike, and +that the head he so longed to see had at least a +dozen different hiding-places. At last, when he +had expended quite a small fortune, and his brain +was much addled with psychic nomenclature, with +detailed accounts of the Astral Plane, Karmas, +Elementals, Elementaries, White Lodges, and What +not, he interviewed a woman, living somewhere +in the Bayswater direction, who suggested that +he should hold a séance in the haunted hollow, and +who promised, with a great show of condescension, +to act as his medium if he would pay her the trifling +sum of twenty pounds.</p> + +<p>At first Brown declared the thing impossible, +since he did not, at that moment, possess twenty +pounds, which was literally true; but the prospect<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span> +of seeing the ghost’s face at length proved too +much for him, and he decided to pawn all he had, +in order to gratify his longing.</p> + +<p>He closed with the offer. When the night fixed +for the séance arrived, the weather conditions were +all that could be desired; the air was soft and calm, +the moon brilliant, the sky almost cloudless, and +promising only the finest weather for days to come. +As the medium insisted upon a party of at least +four, Brown persuaded a Mr. and Mrs. de Roscovi, +Russians, to come, and they all set out together +from Sudbury shortly after ten o’clock. Brown +had made many inquiries in the neighbourhood +as to the phantom figure, but he had only come +across two people who would tell him anything +about it. One, a farmer, assured him that he had +on several occasions seen the ghost when driving, +and that, on each occasion, it had kept abreast of his +horse, even though the latter was careering along the +road half mad with fright. But what terrified him +most, he said, was that the apparition had no head.</p> + +<p>The other, a blacksmith, said he had seen the +woman twice, and that each time he had seen her +she had been carrying something tucked under her +arm, which he had fancied was a head. But he +had been too scared to look at it very closely, and +he only knew for certain that where her head +should have been there was nothing. Both he and +the farmer said they had heard all their lives that +the road was haunted, but for what reason they had +never been able to discover, as within the past sixty +years, at any rate, neither murder nor suicide was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span> +known to have taken place near the hollow. This +is as far as Brown had got with his investigations +when he set out from Sudbury on the night in +question. The de Roscovis did not think, for one +moment, that the ghost would appear. They said, +few people apparently had seen it; its visits in +all probability were only periodical; and weeks, +months, or even years might elapse before it put in +an appearance there again.</p> + +<p>“That may be, but then we have a medium,” +Brown argued. “I engaged her to invoke the ghost, +provided it would not come of its own accord. +You can invoke it, can’t you, Madame Valenspin?”</p> + +<p>Madame Valenspin now seemed rather dubious. +“I have never tried in the open before,” she said, +with a slight shiver, “but I will do my best. The +conditions seem favourable; but I can’t say definitely +till we arrive at the exact spot.”</p> + +<p>Brown, however, could not help observing that +the farther they advanced into the country, which +became more and more lonely, the more restless +and uneasy Madame Valenspin grew.</p> + +<p>Once or twice she halted, as if irresolute whether +to go on or not, and the moment she caught sight +of the hollow she came to a dead stop.</p> + +<p>“Not down there,” she said. “It’s too dark. +We’d better stay here.”</p> + +<p>It was frightfully still. Brown listened for the +murmuring of water. There was none. The recent +hot sun had probably dried up the spring. Through +the same gap in the hedge he saw a big cow—possibly, +so he thought, the same cow—and he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span> +took it as a favourable augury for the appearance +of the ghost that the animal, as before, was gazing +fixedly into the open space, as if momentarily expecting +to see something.</p> + +<p>Behind it, away back in the broad expanse of +field, were other cattle, their skins startlingly white; +all motionless, and all in attitudes suggestive of a +sense of anticipation, of a conscious waiting for +something. The sepulchral hush was uninterrupted +saving by bats, assuredly the biggest and +blackest Brown had ever seen, wheeling and +skimming, with the faintest perceptible whiz, whiz, +whiz, in and out the larches; and the soft intermittent +fanning of the leaves as the night breeze +came rustling over the flat country and continued +its career down into the hollow. A rabbit scurried +across the road from one gate to another, its white +breast shining silver, and some other small furry +creature, of a species undetected, created a brief +pandemonium in a neighbouring ditch. Otherwise +all nature was extraordinarily passive.</p> + +<p>“The figure went right down into the hollow,” +Brown said. “I think we ought to try there. +What do you think, Mrs. de Roscovi?”</p> + +<p>“I am of the same opinion as Madame Valenspin,” +Mrs. de Roscovi replied, glancing apprehensively at the +dip. “I think we had far better stay where we are.”</p> + +<p>“Very well, then,” Brown said, “let’s begin. +You are mistress of the ceremonies, Madame +Valenspin. Will you tell us what to do?”</p> + +<p>Madame Valenspin moved to one side of the +road, and stood with her back resting against a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span> +gate. “Keep quite close to me,” she said, “and +I will try and go under control. Ah!” She +ejaculated the last syllable so sharply that Brown +and Mrs. de Roscovi both started. She then +began to mumble something, and then, breaking +into a shrill, high-pitched key, stated that she was +no longer Madame Valenspin but a spirit called +Anne Heathcote, who was her temporary control. +Anne Heathcote, so the audience were informed, +was the ghost of a girl of very great beauty, who +had been murdered in an adjoining field, close on +a hundred years ago. There was no apparent +motive for the deed, which was accomplished in +a peculiarly barbarous fashion, the head being cut +right off and thrown in a pit that had long since +been filled in. The criminal was never caught.</p> + +<p>“Can’t you appear to us with your head on,” +Brown asked, “just as you were in your lifetime?”</p> + +<p>“No,” the alleged spirit replied. “I am forbidden +to do so. My visits are only periodical, and I shan’t +be able to materialise again here for at least ten years.”</p> + +<p>“Then there is little hope of my ever seeing +you,” Brown said, bitterly disappointed.</p> + +<p>“None,” was the somewhat abrupt answer.</p> + +<p>“But why should you haunt this place at all?” +Mr. de Roscovi asked. “What reason is there +for your being earth-bound?”</p> + +<p>“My sins,” the control replied. “I was a very +wicked girl.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t care whether you were wicked or not,” +Brown put in mournfully. “I want to see you. +If your face is in keeping with your limbs and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span> +figure, it must indeed be lovely. Is there no way +of seeing you—just for a second?”</p> + +<p>“None,” the control answered. Then, with +much more emphasis, “None.”</p> + +<p>But hardly had the alleged Anne Heathcote +spoken, when far away in the distance came the +sound of footsteps. Tap, tap, tap!</p> + +<p>“Why! By Jove!” Brown shouted, “there she is! +I recognise her step. I should know it in a million.”</p> + +<p>For a minute everyone was silent, the tapping +growing more and more audible. Then Madame +Valenspin, in quite her own voice, exclaimed excitedly: +“Let us be going. The spirits tell me +we mustn’t remain here any longer. Let’s go +back by the fields.”</p> + +<p>She fumbled with the latchet of the gate, against +which she had been leaning, and hurriedly tried to +raise it.</p> + +<p>Mrs. de Roscovi said nothing, but gripped her +husband by the arm. The steps approached rapidly, +and presently the same dainty form, Brown had +previously seen when with Reynolds, once more +figured on the horizon.</p> + +<p>“It is—it is she!” Brown whispered. “Look—the +waist, the arms, the hands, the shoes. Silver +buckles! How they flash!”</p> + +<p>An exclamation of horror interrupted him. It +was from Mr. de Roscovi. He had moved to one +side of the road, dragging his wife with him, and +the two were standing huddled together, their +eyes fixed in a frenzied stare at the phantom’s +neck. Brown, forcing his attention away from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span> +the long slim hands which so fascinated him, followed +their glances. The neck was not as he remembered +it, white and slender as far as it went, but it ended +abruptly in a grey nothingness, and beyond this +nothingness Brown fancied he discerned the dimmest +of shadows. He was appalled but fascinated, +and intense curiosity far outweighed his fear. He +was certain she was beautiful—beautiful to a +degree that immeasurably excelled any feminine +loveliness he had hitherto encountered. He must +see her face. He did not believe her head was +missing; he believed it was there on her body right +enough, but that for some specific reason it had +not materialised. He turned to Madame Valenspin +to inquire the cause, and was greatly astonished +to see her beating a hasty retreat across the fields. +The figure had now come up to where he was +standing, and tripping past him, it sped swiftly +down the dip. Brown at once gave chase. He +had not gone many yards before the darkness of +the dip was on him; and the only clue he had +to his quarry’s whereabouts was the sound of the +shoes—the constant tap, tap, tapping. On and +on he went, however, and at length, emerging from +the darkness, he perceived a wooden stile and +beyond it a tiny path, threading its way through +a clump of firs that gradually grew thinner and +thinner till they finally terminated in what appeared +to be a broad clearing. Mounting the stile +and springing off on the other side, the woman +tripped along the path, and, turning for a moment +to beckon Brown, disappeared from view.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span></p> + +<p>The intense loneliness of the spot, emphasised +a thousandfold by the eerie effect of the few straggling +moonbeams that fell aslant the stile and +pathway, and the knowledge that he had left his +companions far behind made Brown falter, and it +was some seconds before he could gather up the +courage to continue his pursuit. A light girlish +laugh, however, proceeding apparently from the +spot where the figure had vanished, determined +him. He saw once again vividly before him that +willowy waist, those slim, delicate fingers, and +those coquettish little feet. Were the devil itself +to bar his way he must see her face. Sweating +with terror, and yet withal obsessed with a passion +that defies description, Brown mounted the stile +and hastened in the direction of the laugh. Again +it rang out, charged to overflowing with innocent +fun and frolic, irresistibly girlish, irresistibly coy. +This time there was no mistaking its locality. It +came from behind a small clump of trees that +bordered on the clearing. Wild with excitement +and full of love madness, Brown dashed round the +clump, and then halted. Floating in mid-air was +a head, a head that looked as if it had long since +been buried and just disinterred. The eyes alone +lived, and they were fixed on Brown’s with a mocking, +baneful glitter. Hanging on either side of it +was a mass of long fair hair, suggestive of a woman.</p> + +<p>Every detail in the face stood out with hideous +clearness in the brilliancy of the moonlight, and as +Brown stared at it, petrified with horror, the thing +laughed.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span></p> + + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a><span class="g">CHAPTER III</span><br /> +<br /> +THE CUPBOARD<br /> +<br /> +<span class="f8">A CASE OF HAUNTINGS NEAR BIRMINGHAM</span></h2> + + +<p><span class="smcap">People</span> often wonder why new houses—houses +without any apparent history—should suddenly +begin to be haunted, often by a variety of very +alarming phenomena, and then, just as suddenly, +perhaps, cease to be haunted.</p> + +<p>Of course one can only theorise, but I think a +very possible and feasible reason is suggested, in +the case I am about to relate.</p> + +<p>Five years ago Sir George Cookham was living at +“The Mayfields,” a large country house some ten +or twelve miles south-east of Birmingham. He +was greatly interested in criminology, inclining to +the belief that crime is almost entirely due to +physical malformation; and used to invite all the +great experts on the subject to stay with him. It +was one week-end, towards the middle of September, +that Dr. Sickertorft came; and he and +Sir George had some very heated arguments. Sir +George was one of the most eccentric men I have +ever met, and one of his many idiosyncrasies was to +carry on his discussions walking.</p> + +<p>On the morning of Sickertorft’s departure he and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span> +Sir George were arguing—Sir George, at the same +time, perambulating the corridor of the ground +floor of the house, for about the hundredth time—when +Dr. Sickertorft suddenly remarked: “I wonder +if this house is haunted?”</p> + +<p>“Haunted!” Sir George laughed. “Why, of +course not. It’s new. My father built it only +sixty years ago. A house to be haunted must be +old, must have some history. And the only tragedy +that has occurred here was when a servant I once +had, losing control of his temper, killed one of my +most valuable dogs. That was a tragedy, both for +the servant and the dog. There has been nothing +else to my knowledge—nothing beyond one or two +quite peaceful deaths from natural causes. But +why do you ask?”</p> + +<p>“Because,” Sickertorft replied, “that cupboard +over there, opposite the foot of the stairs, to me, +strongly suggests a ghost. Something peculiarly +diabolical. Something that springs out on one +and imparts the sensation of being strangled.”</p> + +<p>“The only ghosts that haunt that cupboard,” +Sir George chuckled, “are boots and shoes, and, I +believe, my fishing rods. Ghosts are all a delusion—a +peculiar state of the brain due to some +minute osseous depression or cerebral inflammation.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t agree with you,” Sickertorft said +quietly. “I am positively certain that there are +such things as ghosts, that they are objective and +of many kinds. Some, in all probability, have +always existed, and have never inhabited any<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span> +human body; some are the earth-bound spiritual +egos of man and beast; and some we can create +ourselves.”</p> + +<p>“Create ghosts!” Sir George cried. “Come, +now, we are talking sense. Of course we can create +ghosts. Pepper did, Maskelyne and Devant still +do, and so do all the so-called materialising +mediums.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t mean spoof ghosts,” Sickertorft responded. +“I mean real ones. Real superphysical, +objective phenomena. Man can at times create +them, but only by intense concentration.”</p> + +<p>“You mean materialised thought forms?”</p> + +<p>“If you like to term them such,” Sickertorft +replied. “I believe they are responsible for a +certain percentage of hauntings, but not all.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I’ve never seen any of your ghostly +thought forms nor, in my opinion, am I ever likely +to,” Sir George growled. “Show me one and I’ll +believe. But you can’t.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know so much,” Sickertorft muttered, +and, with his eyes still on the cupboard, he followed +Sir George into his study.</p> + +<p class="dots">.<span class="dot">.</span><span class="dot">.</span><span class="dot">.</span><span class="dot">.</span><span class="dot">.</span><span class="dot">.</span></p> + +<p>A week later Lucy, a maid at “The Mayfields,” +was walking past the cupboard on her way to the +dining-room, when something, as she subsequently +described it to the cook, came over her, and she ran +for her life.</p> + +<p>“I didn’t hear anything nor see anything,” she +explained. “I only felt there was something +nasty hiding there, ready to spring out.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span></p> + +<p>The following night she had the same experience, +and her terror was so great that she ran shrieking +into the dining-room, and it was some moments +before she could make any coherent statement. +Lady Cookham was very angry with her, and said it +was all nonsense. There was nothing whatever +wrong with the cupboard, and, if it occurred again, +she must go. It did occur again, the very next +night, and Lucy, without waiting for her dismissal, +gave notice. She said this time she heard a laugh, +a low chuckle, very sinister, and suggestive also of +the utmost glee. The door of the cupboard +creaked and, she believed, opened a little; but on +this point she could not be absolutely certain. She +only knew her horror was infinitely greater than +it had been on former occasions, and that when she +ran, she was convinced something very dreadful +ran after her.</p> + +<p>The following evening, just about the same time, +the butler went to the cupboard for a pair of shoes. +He had just picked them up, and was about to go off +with them, when someone breathed in his face. He +sprang back in astonishment, striking his head +somewhat badly against the edge of a shelf, whereupon +there was a laugh—a short, sharp laugh, expressive +of the keenest satisfaction. This was too +much for the butler. Dropping the shoes, he +dashed out of the cupboard and never ceased running +till he was in the servants’ quarters.</p> + +<p>He told the housekeeper, and the housekeeper +mentioned the matter to the head parlourmaid; +so that in a very short time the whole household<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span> +got to know of it, and the cupboard was given as +wide a berth as possible.</p> + +<p>The next victim was the governess. Sir George +had two children, both girls, and at present they +were too young to go to school. The governess was +a Cambridge graduate, who boasted of being utterly +materialistic and of having a supreme contempt for +weak nerves, and, to quote her own words, “poor +simpletons who believe in ghosts.”</p> + +<p>She was passing the cupboard one evening, +three nights after the butler’s experience, when an +irresistible impulse came over her to explore it. +She opened the door and stepped inside, then someone +closed the door with a bang and laughed.</p> + +<p>“Who are you?” the governess demanded. +“Let me out at once. How dare you!”</p> + +<p>There was no reply, but when she stretched out +her hand to feel for the door, she encountered something +very cold and spongy, and the horror of it +was so unexpected that she fainted.</p> + +<p>In falling she struck the door violently. It +flew open, and she was found some seconds later in a +state of semi-insensibility, lying half in the cupboard +and half across the corridor.</p> + +<p>When Lady Cookham heard of what had happened, +she was furious. “The cupboard can’t be haunted,” +she declared, “it’s ridiculous. Someone is playing +us a trick. I’ll call in the police.”</p> + +<p>The local inspector being summoned, examined +the cupboard and cross-questioned the servants. +But he discovered nothing. Lady Cookham now +determined to unravel the mystery—if mystery there<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span> +were—herself. She gave all the servants save +one—the new maid Hemmings, whom she had +engaged in the place of Lucy—a fortnight’s holiday, +and got in a supply cook from Coventry. The +governess was allowed to remain, but she was +strictly forbidden to go anywhere near the cupboard +after midday.</p> + +<p>When evening arrived, Lady Cookham, arming +herself with a revolver and horsewhip, commenced +to watch. Her first vigil passed uneventfully; +but the next night, just as she had arrived at the +cupboard and was taking up her stand facing it, +the door slowly began to open. Lady Cookham is +about as good a specimen of the thoroughly practical, +strong-minded English sportswoman as one could +meet anywhere. Up to the commencement of the +present war she rode regularly with the Pytchley +hounds, had a cold douche bath every morning, and +spent a month at least every summer yachting in +the English Channel.</p> + +<p>She had never known fear—never, at least, until +now. “Who’s there?” she demanded. “You +had better speak sharp, or I’ll fire!”</p> + +<p>There was no reply, however, and the door continued +opening.</p> + +<p>Had she seen anything, she doesn’t think she would +have been so frightened, but there was nothing—absolutely +nothing visible. Her impressions were, +however, that something was coming out, and +that that something was nothing human.</p> + +<p>It moved stealthily towards her—and she could +define a soft clinging tread, just as if it had tentacles<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span> +that kept adhering to the boards. She tried to +press the trigger of the revolver, but her muscles +refused to act, and when she opened her mouth +to shout she could not articulate a sound. It was +now close to her. One of its large, clammy feet +touched her, and she could feel its clammy, pungent +breath fanning the top of her head.</p> + +<p>Then something icy cold and indescribably +repulsive sought her throat and slowly began to +throttle her. She tried to beat it off and to make +some kind of noise to attract help, but it was +all to no purpose. She was powerless. The grip +tightened. All the blood in her veins congealed—her +lungs expanded to the verge of bursting; and +then, when the pain and horror reached its climax, +and the identity of the hellish creature seemed about +to reveal itself, there was a loud crack, and with it +the acme of her sufferings, the final conscious stage +of excruciating asphyxiation passed, and she relapsed +into apparent death. She supposes that, +for the first time in her life, she must have fainted. +The crack was the report of her revolver. In her +acute agony, her fingers had closed convulsively +over the trigger, and the weapon had exploded.</p> + +<p>The noise proved her salvation. No psychic +phenomena can stand violent vibration, and Sir +George Cookham, arriving on the scene at the sound +of the report, found his wife lying on the ground +unconscious, but alone. He heard her story, and +refused to be convinced.</p> + +<p>“It’s a case of suggestion,” he argued. “Lucy +was a highly strung, imaginative girl. She had, in all<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span> +probability, been reading spook tales, and hearing +a noise in the cupboard had at once attributed the +sound to ghosts. That was quite enough for +Wilkins. Servants are ready to believe anything—especially +if it is propagated by one of their +own class. Miss Dennis is a hypochondriac. All +governesses must be. The nature of their work +necessitates it. She heard a well-garnished account +of what was supposed to have happened from +Wilkins, probably from Lucy too, and the neurotic +state of her nerves did the rest. Of course when +it comes to you, my dear,” he said, “it is more +difficult to understand. But as there are no such +things as ghosts—as they are a scientific impossibility—it +must have been suggestion.”</p> + +<p>“I’m certain it was not,” Lady Cookham retorted, +“and I’m going to leave the house and take +the children with me. It’s not right for them to +stay.”</p> + +<p>Sir George protested, but Lady Cookham had +her own way, and in less than a fortnight there +were notices in the <cite>Field</cite>, and other papers, to say +that “The Mayfields” was to be let furnished.</p> + +<p>“We’ll give it a year’s trial,” Lady Cookham +said, “and, if the people who take it are not disturbed +by anything unusual happening, we will +conclude the hauntings are at an end and return.”</p> + +<p>A few days after this conversation Sir George +met Dr. Sickertorft on the platform of Coventry +Station. Though the day was almost sultry, the +doctor was muffled up in an overcoat, and appeared +very pale and thin.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span></p> + +<p>“So you are leaving ‘The Mayfields,’” Sickertorft +remarked. “Has the ghost been too much +for you?”</p> + +<p>“Ghost!” Sir George cried angrily, “what the +deuce do you mean? We have let the house for +awhile, but not on account of any ghost. My wife +wants to be nearer London.”</p> + +<p>“Then the stories that have got afloat are +all moonshine,” Sickertorft replied, with a +smile, “and you are still just as sceptical as +ever.”</p> + +<p>“I am,” Sir George responded; “and if you hear +any more reports about ‘The Mayfields’ being +haunted, kindly contradict them.”</p> + +<p>Sickertorft smiled. “I will make a bet, Sir +George,” he said, “that you will be converted one +day.”</p> + +<p>“You may bet as much as you like, but you’ll +lose,” Sir George answered furiously. And turning +his back on Sickertorft, he walked away from him +without another word.</p> + +<p>The following day Lady Cookham and the +children left, and Sir George finding himself the +sole occupant of the house, the servants having left +at midday, telephoned to Sydney N. Morgan, a +well-known private detective who specialised in +cases of theft and blackmail, asking him to come. +On his arrival at “The Mayfields” that same +evening, Morgan listened to all Sir George had to +say, and then made an exhaustive examination +of the premises, paying particular attention to the +cupboard in the hall.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Well?” Sir George asked. “What is your +opinion? Rats?”</p> + +<p>“Not human ones, at any rate,” Morgan replied. +“Anyhow, I can find no traces of them. I incline +to your theory of nerves.”</p> + +<p>“Imagination first and then suggestion.” Sir +George grunted. Now that he was alone there +with the detective, he began to have misgivings. +The house seemed strangely large and silent. But +ghosts! Bah! There were no such things. He +said as much to Morgan, and they both laughed.</p> + +<p>Then they stared at one another in amazement, +for, from afar off, there came an answering echo, a +faint yet distinctly audible—chuckle.</p> + +<p>They were standing at one end of the corridor +on the ground floor when this happened, and to +both of them the sound seemed to emanate from +the cupboard. “What was that?” Sir George +asked. “The wind?”</p> + +<p>“It may have been,” Morgan said dubiously, +“but there’s no getting away from the fact that it +was a queer noise for the wind to make. I made +sure I looked everywhere.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll go upstairs and get my revolver,” Sir George +observed. “It may come in handy. Will you +remain here?”</p> + +<p>They looked at one another furtively, and each +thought they saw fear in the other’s eyes.</p> + +<p>Both, however, had reputations to sustain.</p> + +<p>“I’ll wait down here, Sir George,” Morgan said, +“and keep an eye on the cupboard. You’ll call +if you want me.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span></p> + +<p>“I will,” Sir George replied. “I shan’t be gone +more than a minute. Be on your guard. It’s +just about this time the alleged disturbances begin.”</p> + +<p>He hurried off, and Morgan watched his long legs +cross the hall and hastily ascend the main staircase. +The hall occupied a large space in the centre +of the house, and overlooking it was a gallery +connecting the east and west wings.</p> + +<p>Sir George’s room—that is to say, the room he +was reserving for himself on this occasion—was +in the east wing, the first to be reached from +the gallery, and Morgan could almost see it from +where he stood in the hall. His gaze was still +fixed on Sir George’s retreating figure when a noise +from behind him made him turn hurriedly round, +and he distinctly saw the cupboard door open a +few inches. Moving towards the cupboard, he then +saw, as the door opened wider, a huge indefinable +something emerge from it. Morgan admits that the +most sublime terror seized him, and that he shrank +back convulsively against the wall, totally unable +to do anything but stare. The shape came towards +him with a slow, shambling gait, and Morgan was +at length able to compare it with an enormous +fungus. It had arms and legs truly, but they were +disproportionately long and crooked, and hardly +seemed to belong to the body.</p> + +<p>There was no apparent head. The whole thing +was vague and misty, but suggestive of the greatest +foulness and antagonism. Morgan’s horror was so +great as it passed him that he believes his heart +practically stopped beating, and so tightly had he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span> +clenched his hands that the print of his finger nails +remained on his palms for days afterwards. It +left him in time, however, and he watched it shuffle +its unwholesome way across the hall and surreptitiously +begin to ascend the staircase.</p> + +<p>He tried to shout to Sir George to put him on +his guard, but his voice refused to act and he could +do nothing.</p> + +<p>Up and up it went, until at last it reached the +gallery and crept onward into the east wing.</p> + +<p>He then heard Sir George cry out, “Hullo, +Morgan! Is that you? Anything——” There +was then a moment of the most intense silence, and +then a shriek. Morgan says it was like a woman’s +shriek—it was so shrill, so uncontrolled, so full of +the most abject terror. For a moment it completely +paralysed Morgan, but he seems then to +have partially recovered. Anyhow, he pulled himself +sufficiently together to run up the stairs and +arrive outside Sir George’s door in time to hear +sounds of a most violent struggle. Tables, chairs, +washstand, crockery, were all hurled to the ground, +as Sir George raced round and round the room in +his desperate efforts to escape. Once he caught +hold of the handle of the door and turned it furiously. +“Let me out!” he shrieked. “For mercy’s sake +let me out!” and again Morgan heard him rush to +the window and pound madly on the glass.</p> + +<p>Then there came another spell of silence—short +and emphatic—then a shriek that far eclipsed +anything Morgan had hitherto heard, and then a +voice—a man’s voice, but certainly not Sir George’s—which,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span> +speaking in sharp, jerky sentences that +conveyed with them a sense of strange far-offness, +said: “You’ll believe now, Sir George. You’ll +believe now. Damn you, you’ll believe now!” +Then there were sounds as if someone was being +shaken very violently to and fro, and Morgan, +utterly unable to stand it any longer, turned tail +and—fled.</p> + +<p class="dots">.<span class="dot">.</span><span class="dot">.</span><span class="dot">.</span><span class="dot">.</span><span class="dot">.</span><span class="dot">.</span></p> + +<p>When Morgan returned some half an hour later, +accompanied by the lodge-keeper and one of the +under-gardeners, they found Sir George lying in a +heap on the floor—unconscious. He did not +die, however, neither did he go mad; but his heart +was badly affected, and he subsequently developed +fits.</p> + +<p>Nothing would induce him to describe what had +actually taken place, and this, added to the fact +that he never again set foot within “The Mayfields,” +caused his friends to draw their own conclusions. +Morgan told me all about it, and I at once wrote +to Dr. Sickertorft. I was too late, however; Dr. +Sickertorft had been dead some weeks—he had died +of cerebral tuberculosis exactly three months after +Morgan’s visit to “The Mayfields.” I was informed +that he attributed the fatal malady to supernormal +concentration.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span></p> + + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a><span class="g">CHAPTER IV</span><br /> +<br /> +THE EMPTY LEASH<br /> +<br /> +<span class="f8">A CASE OF HAUNTING IN ST. JOHN’S WOOD</span></h2> + + +<p><span class="smcap">I have</span> so often been accused of writing too exclusively +about the horrid types of spirit, such as +earth-bound murderers, suicides, and elements, that +I am more than pleased to be able to present to my +readers a case of a different kind. Until quite +recently Barcombe House, St. John’s Wood, was +haunted by the ghost of a very lovely little girl, +who, it is believed, died of a broken heart because +a dog to which she was very much attached had +to be destroyed. I obtained particulars as to the +hauntings from a Mr. John Tyley, whose verbatim +account I will endeavour, as nearly as possible, to +reproduce.</p> + +<p>“Guy Darnton is a very intimate friend of mine. +Some people call us inseparables, and I suppose we +are—though at times, I believe, no two men could +so thoroughly hate one another. Indeed, to such +an extremity has this spirit of execration and dislike +been carried that I have on occasions actually +accused him of being my very worst—my most +cruel, and certainly my most subtly destructive—enemy. +But even then, even at the moment when<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span> +my abhorrence of him has been most acute, I have +always accorded him—reluctantly, I admit—one +great redeeming quality—his affection for and +kindness to Ghoul.</p> + +<p>“Ghoul was an Irish terrier, just an ordinary-looking +Irish terrier, with all the pugnacious and—as +some unkind critics would add—quarrelsome +characteristics of his race. He hated fops, those +little brown Pekinese and King Charles horrors that +ladies scent and comb, and stuff to bursting-point +with every imaginable dainty; and whenever he +saw one mincing its way along the street, he would +always block its path and try to bite it.</p> + +<p>“Yet he was an idealist. It’s all nonsense to +say that animals have no appreciation of beauty. +Ghoul had. He was fond of biscuits truly; but he +liked other things more, far more than food. I +have known him stand in front of a rose bush and +gaze at it with an expression which no one but the +most unkind and prejudiced sceptic could possibly +misinterpret for anything but sheer, solid admiration; +and I used to notice that whenever he was +introduced to several ladies, he always wagged his +tail hardest at the prettiest of them. But most of +all Ghoul admired pretty children—dainty little +girls with fluffy yellow curls and big, smiling eyes. +He adored them, and he hated with equal fervour +all children who were in any way physically ill-favoured. +I have known him bark furiously at a +boy who squinted, and snarl at and refuse to go near +a girl who had a blotchy, yellow complexion and a +cavernous, frog-shaped mouth.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span></p> + +<p>“But I am speaking as if Ghoul were my property. +He was not—at least, not in the legal sense. +Darnton paid for his licence—and housed and fed +him—and so had every apparent right to call +himself Ghoul’s master.</p> + +<p>“In spite of this, however, I knew intuitively +that Ghoul regarded me as his actual master, and +I believe the explanation of this circumstance lay +in the superphysical. I am psychic, and I am +convinced that the unknown is nearer, far nearer +to me than it is to most people. Now dogs, at +least most dogs, have the faculty of second sight, +of clairvoyance and clairaudience, very acutely +developed—you have only to be in a haunted +house with them to see it; and there is nothing +they stand in awe of more—or for which they have +a more profound respect—than the superphysical. +Now Ghoul was no exception. He saw around me +what I only felt; and he recognised that I was the +magnet. He respected me as one true psychic +respects another.</p> + +<p>“One day we were out together. Darnton had +gone to the dentist, and Ghoul, tired of his own +company, resolved to pay me a visit. He wandered +in at the wicket gate of my garden just as I was about +to set off for a morning constitutional. I greeted +him somewhat boisterously, for Ghoul, when extra +solemn, always excited my risibility, and, after a +brief skirmish with him on behalf of my cat, an +extraordinarily ugly Tom, for whom Ghoul cherished +the most inveterate hatred, we set off together. It +was pure accident that led me into the Adelaide<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span> +Road. I was half-way along it, thinking of nothing +in particular, when someone whistled behind me, +and I turned round. As a rule, one may see a few +pedestrians—one or two at least—at all times of +the day in the Adelaide Road, but oddly enough +no one was in sight just at that moment, and I +could see no traces of Ghoul. I called him, and +getting no reply, walked back a little distance. +At last I discovered him. He was in the front +garden of Barcombe House, sitting in the centre of +a grass plot, his eyes fixed on space, but with such +an expression of absorbing interest that I was absolutely +astounded. Thinking something, perhaps, +was hiding in the bushes, I threw stones and made +a great shooing; but nothing came out, and Ghoul +still maintained his position. The look in his face +did not suggest anything antagonistic, it was indicative +rather of something very pleasing to him—something +idealistic—something he adored.</p> + +<p>“I shouted ‘Ghoul!’ He did not take the +slightest notice, and when I caught him by the +scruff of the neck, he dug his paws in the ground +and whined piteously. Then I grew alarmed. He +must either have hurt himself or have gone mad. +I examined him carefully, and nothing appearing +to be the matter with him, I lifted him up, and, +despite his frantic struggles, carried him out of the +garden.</p> + +<p>“The moment I set him down he raced back. +Then I grew determined. A taxi was hailed, and +Ghoul, driven off in it, speedily found himself a close +prisoner in Darnton’s exceedingly unromantic study.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span></p> + +<p>“That afternoon I revisited Barcombe House +alone. The premises were to let, and, judging by +their neglected and dilapidated appearance, had +been so for some considerable time. Both front +and back garden were overgrown with a wild profusion +of convolvulus, thistles, and other weeds; +and an air of desolation, common to all abandoned +houses, hung about the place. All the same, I could +detect nothing unpleasant.</p> + +<p>“I was unmistakably aware of some superphysical +influence; but that influence, unlike the +majority of those I had hitherto experienced, was +decidedly attractive.</p> + +<p>“It seemed to affect everything—the ruddy +rays of sunlight that, falling aslant the paths, +turned them into scintillating gold; the buttercups +and dandelions more glorious yellow than I had +ever remembered seeing them; the air—charged +to overflowing with the rich, entrancing perfume +of an abnormally generous summer’s choicest +flowers. All nature here seemed stimulated, +cheered and glorified, and the longer I lingered +the longer I wished to linger. At the far end of the +garden was an arbour overgrown with jasmine and +sweet honeysuckle, and on its moss-covered seat +I espied a monstrous Teddy bear adorned with a +piece of faded and mildewy pink ribbon. The +sight filled me with a strange melancholy. The +poor Teddy bear, once held so lovingly in the tight +embrace of two little infantile arms, was now abandoned +to the mercies of spiders and wood-lice, and +the pitiless spoliation of decay. How long had it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span> +been left, and where was its owner? I looked at +the sunshine, and, in the beams that gilded everything +around me, I felt an answer to my queries. +Most haunted places scare me, but it was otherwise +here; and I was so fascinated, so eager to probe +the mystery to its core, that I left the garden and, +crossing a tiny stone yard, approached the back of +the house. The premises were quite easy of access, +as the catch of one of the windows was broken, and +the shutter of the coal-house had come off its hinges. +One has always supposed that the basement of any +house that has stood empty for a long time must +become cold and musty, but here I could detect +neither cold nor mustiness. Even in the darkest +recesses the sun made its influence felt, and its +beams warmed and illuminated walls and flagstones +alike. I now entered a large and lofty apartment, +with a daintily tiled floor, spotlessly clean ceiling, +artistically coloured walls, and scrupulously clean +dresser. Here again the devastating hand of decay +was nowhere to be seen, and indeed I thought I +had never been in such a pleasant kitchen.</p> + +<p>“I intended waiting there only until I had consumed +a sandwich, but when I rose to go, something +held me back, and I tarried on and on, until +the evening set in and dark and strangely formed +shadows began to dim the walls and floor.</p> + +<p>“As I was mounting the stairs to explore the +upper premises a gentle gust of wind blew in my +face and filled my nostrils with the most delightful +odour of ‘cherry-pie.’ Intoxicated, I halted, and, +leaning against the banisters, inhaled the perfume<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span> +to the full extent of my lungs. Then I listened. +The breeze rustling past me down the stairs rattled +the window panes and jarred the doors, and seemed +to disseminate, in its wake, new and even more perplexing +shadows. Presently a door slammed, and +I distinctly heard footsteps cross the hall and begin +to ascend the stairs.</p> + +<p>“It was now for the first time that terror laid +hold of me, but the fascination of it was so compelling +that I lowered my head over the balustrade +to listen. I tried to reason the thing out. Why, I +asked myself, should these footsteps alarm me? +What was it that made them different from other +footsteps? Surely there was no difference. And +yet, if that were so, why was I certain that they +were not the footsteps of any trespasser from outside? +I debated earnestly, desperately, but could +arrive at no other conclusion than that there was a +difference, and that this difference did not lie in +the sounds themselves, but in the sense of atmosphere +they conveyed, an atmosphere that was +peculiarly subtle and quite incompatible with the +natural. At last I knew for certain that the sounds +were superphysical, and yet such was my dread +of the Unknown that I fought most frantically +against my convictions.</p> + +<p>“The steps had, by this time, so I calculated, +reached the first landing, and I now noticed in +them a cautiousness that I had not remarked +before. What should I see? There was still +time for flight, but whither could I go? Behind +me were a row of half-open doors, through which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span> +the sun, sinking fast, shone its last rays. The +effect—a sad one—forcibly reminded me of the +end of all things—death; and the sadness of it +harmonised well with an air of silent expectation +that seemed suddenly to have filled the whole +house. My fears grew. I was certain that the +oncoming footsteps could only emanate from a +phantom of the most startling and terrifying +description, and I bitterly repented of my rashness +in coming to the house alone. With a supreme +effort, I averted my gaze and turned to seek refuge +in one mad headlong plunge, should there be no +other haven, through a window; but the power +to do so was denied me. I was paralysed. The +steps came nearer, and now, some distance below +me, moving rapidly up the staircase, came something +bright. I watched it pass swiftly round +one bend, and then another, and at the moment +my suspense had reached its limit and I felt I +was on the border-line of either death or insanity, it +turned the last corner and shot fully into view. +The reaction was then so great that I reeled back +against the wall and burst out laughing. Instead +of some distorted semblance of humanity, instead +of some grotesque, semi-animal elemental, something +too grim and devilish for the mind to conceive +and survive, I saw—a child: a girl of about twelve, +dressed in the most becoming frock of soft white +satin, high in the waist, and from thence falling in +folds to her feet. She had long bright golden hair +hanging in loose curls on either side of her low white +forehead; delicately pencilled eyebrows that were<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span> +slightly knit, and wide open blue-grey eyes that +were fixed on me with an expression of the gravest +anxiety, mingled with a something enigmatical, +something sorely puzzling and with which I seemed +to be familiar. Again and again I have tried to +diagnose it, and at times the solution has seemed +very near; but it has always eluded me in the +end, and the mystery is still as great and as poignant +as ever. The child held a leash in one hand, whilst +she stretched out the other confidingly towards me.</p> + +<p>“Always a worshipper of beauty, I was stooping +down to kiss her little hand, when, to my consternation, +she abruptly vanished, and I found +myself standing there—alone.</p> + +<p>“An intense sadness now seized me, and throwing +myself on the floor I gave way to an attack of utter +dejection. The vision I had just seen was in very +deed the embodiment of all my boyhood’s dreams, +and for the moment, but only for the moment, my +old self, a little pensive boy adoring heart and soul +a girl’s fair face, had lived again.</p> + +<p>“It was all too cruelly brief; for with the +vision my old ego vanished too; and I felt—I +knew it had been wrested from me and hurried +to some far-off place where the like of my present +self could not be admitted. I rose at length +chilled and hopeless, and tearing myself away from +the landing with a desperate effort, wandered home. +I could not rest. An intense dissatisfaction with +myself, with my whole mode of life, my surroundings, +obsessed me. I longed to alter, to become +something different, something unsophisticated,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span> +simple, even elementary. This change in me +brought me into closer sympathy with Ghoul, who, +as I have said, was strangely altered himself. He +avoided Darnton with the most marked persistence, +and was always hovering round my doorstep and +lying on the lawn. At last one day I could stand +it no longer. ‘Ghoul,’ I said, ‘the same yearning +possesses us both. It’s the child—the child with +the lovely eyes. We must see her. You and I +are rivals, old fellow. But never mind! We’ll +visit the house together and let her take her choice. +Come along!’</p> + +<p>“Ghoul’s joy on entering the garden of Barcombe +House knew no bounds. He tore in at the +gate, capered across the grass, barked, whined, +wagged his tail furiously, and behaved like the +veriest of lunatics. Gaining admittance into the +house as easily as before, I quickly made my way +to the third-floor landing, Ghoul darting up the +stairs ahead of me. Without a moment’s pause he +bolted into a room immediately in front of us, and +springing on to the sill of a large casement window +that was wide open, peered eagerly out, exhibiting, +as he did so, the wildest manifestation of excitement. +Following the direction of his eyes, I looked down +into the garden, and there, gazing up at us, her +curls shining gold in the hot summer sun, stood +the little ghost. The moment she saw me, she +smiled, and, moving forward with a peculiar gliding +motion, entered the house. Once again a door +slammed, and, once again, there came the patter +of ascending footsteps. Ghoul ran to meet her.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span> +She stooped over him, patted his head and fastened +the leash to his collar, whilst I, merely a spectator, +felt the bitterest pangs of jealousy. Then she +looked up, and instantly the joy in her face was +converted into pity—pity for me. Without a +doubt Ghoul had triumphed.</p> + +<p>“Still patting him on the head and urging him +forward, she ran past me, and, mounting the window +sill, glanced round at me with a mischievous smile. +Even then I did not comprehend the full significance +of her action. I merely stood and stared—stared +as if I would never grow tired of staring, +so fascinated was I by the piquante beauty of that +superhuman little face. I was still staring when +she put one foot through the open window; still +staring when the other foot followed; still staring +when she waved her hand gleefully at me and +sprang out—out into the sunny brightness of the +hot summer noon. I thought of Ghoul. He had +sprung, too. Sprung barking and whining with a +joy unequalled.</p> + +<p>“I ran to look for him. He lay where he had +fallen, his neck broken and his spirit fled.</p> + +<p>“Darnton, of course, would not believe me. +We had a stormy interview, and we have never +spoken to one another since.</p> + +<p>“The house—Barcombe House—is now let, and +the occupants inform me that they have never +once been troubled—at least not by ghosts.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span></p> + + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a><span class="g">CHAPTER V</span><br /> +<br /> +THE DRESSING-ROOM<br /> +<br /> +<span class="f8">CASES OF HAUNTINGS AT THE PRINCE REGENT +AND OTHER THEATRES</span></h2> + + +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> idea of a theatre being haunted—a theatre +where everything is bright and everyone full of +life—must, for the moment, strike one as preposterous. +Why, the mere thought of the footlights, +to say nothing of the clapping of hands +and thunders of applause from the Gods, conjures +up a picture which is the very antithesis of ghosts. +Besides, why should a theatre be haunted? To be +haunted, a place must have a history—someone +must have committed a crime there, such as murder +or suicide; and surely no such thing has ever +happened in a theatre! Imagine a murder, a real +one, at Drury Lane, or a suicide, say, at the Gaiety! +Why, the thing is monstrous, absurd! And as to a +ghost—a <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">bona fide</i> ghost—appearing on the stage +or in the auditorium, why, such an idea is without +rhyme or reason; it is, in fact, inconceivable, and +the public—the all-wise public—would, of course, +laugh it to scorn.</p> + +<p>But stop a moment. Does the general public +know everything? Is not the theatre, to it, simply<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span> +the stage, and is it not profoundly ignorant of all +that lies beyond the stage—away back, behind the +hidden wings? Is it not profoundly ignorant, +also, of the great basement below the stage with its +dark and tortuous passages; and profoundly +ignorant of the many flights of cold and carpetless +stairs, leading to story upon story of seemingly +never-ending dressing-rooms and corridors? What +does it know, too, of the individual lives of the +many generations of actors and actresses, call-boys +and dressers who have toiled wearily up those +stairs and along those dimly lit passages in between +the acts? what does it know of the thoughts of all +that host of bygones—of their terrible anxieties, +their loves, their passions? what does it know of +the tragedies with which, doubtless, many of these +people have been intimately associated, and of the +crowd of ghosts they have, wittingly or unwittingly, +brought with them from their own homes?—for +ghosts, even as they haunt houses, haunt people +and mercilessly attach themselves to them. Moreover, +although they have long since been forgotten, +tragedies have occurred in some of the oldest of the +London theatres. Hunt up the records of eighty +and ninety years ago, and you will find that more +than one dressing-room witnessed the tragic ending +of some lesser star, some member of the crowd, a +mere “walker on”; that duels were not infrequently +fought in grim earnest on the boards; and that more +than one poor super has been found hanging from +a cobwebby beam in a remote corner of the great +maze-like basement of the building.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span></p> + +<p>Again, think of the site of a London theatre! +Prehistoric man or beast may well lie buried there; +witches accused of practising their nefarious rites +on or near that site may well have been burnt there.</p> + +<p>Think, too, of the houses that once may have +stood there! Inns, with dark tell-tale stains on +their boards; taverns, tainted with vice—the +rendezvous of truculent swashbucklers and painted +jades; and even more terrible still, cruel and +ghastly slaughter-houses.</p> + +<p>Ground, then, and houses alike, all may have had +their hauntings; and the ghosts may have stayed +on, as ghosts often do, haunting anew each successive +building. Yes, more than one London theatre is +haunted—and several of these theatres have more +than one ghost.</p> + +<p>The proprietors affect ignorance and of course +tell you nothing. They like to see long queues +of people waiting for admission to their show, but +they have no desire to see a corresponding crowd +at the box office seeking permission to sit up all +night in the theatre to see the ghost. No, if you +want to find out if a theatre is haunted, you must +not apply to the proprietor, you must inquire of +the actors themselves; and, in order to stand a +really good chance of discovering the truth, you +should, if possible, for a time become one of them. +It was for the purpose of making such a discovery +that I took it into my head one day last year to +apply for a walk on at the Mercury. I had often +wondered if the Mercury was haunted. I speedily +found out that it was not. Still, I was not altogether<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span> +disappointed, for I learned from some of my fellow-walkers +on and from one of the stage hands of +several very interesting cases of hauntings at other +of the London theatres. There is the Prince +Regent’s, for instance, which, as recently as the +late nineties had a dressing-room, 25, that was always +kept locked. It was in the autumn of 1897 that +John W. Mayhewe was engaged to play a small +but rather important part there in <cite>The Merciful +Pirate</cite>. The cast was an unusually large one, and +Mayhewe discovered that he had to share dressing-room +25 with another actor called Talbotson. The +opening night of the play, however, Talbotson +was laid up with influenza, and Mayhewe had room +25 to himself. Being one of those over-anxious +people who err on the side of being ultra-punctual, +he arrived at the theatre at least an hour before the +curtain went up, and, on the way to his room, he +paused to chat with the stage doorkeeper.</p> + +<p>“I noticed,” he remarked, “when I was dressing +for rehearsal yesterday that my room smelt very +musty. Isn’t it often used?”</p> + +<p>“It hasn’t been used since I’ve been here,” was +the reply.</p> + +<p>“Why?” said Mayhewe.</p> + +<p>“I can’t tell you,” the doorkeeper answered +surlily. “If you want to know, you had better +ask the stage manager.”</p> + +<p>Not caring to do this, Mayhewe made no further +remarks, but hastened upstairs. No one was about, +and the noise of his footsteps sounded strangely +loud in the silent emptiness of the passages. He<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span> +entered his room at last, hung his coat and hat +on the door, and, crossing to his seat in front of a +small mirror, sat down. “After all,” he said to +himself, “I’m glad Talbotson won’t be here to-night. +I’m not in a mood for talking, and the +fellow bores me to distraction.” He lit a cigarette, +leaned back in a more comfortable attitude, and +for some minutes allowed himself to revel in the +luxury of a perfectly blank state of mind. Suddenly +the handle of the door turned—a solitary, isolated +sound—and he sat up sharply in his chair. “Who’s +there?” he shouted. There was no response. +“I couldn’t have latched it properly,” he reasoned, +and once again he leaned back in his chair and +smoked. Five or six minutes passed in this fashion, +and he was thinking of beginning to dress, when +there was another noise. Something behind him +fell on the floor with a loud flop.</p> + +<p>Once again he turned swiftly round. It was +his hat—a hard felt bowler. It had fallen from the +door peg on which he had hung it, and was still +feebly oscillating.</p> + +<p>“It is curious how one sometimes notices all +these little things,” he reflected. “I dare say +door handles have turned and hats have fallen +a thousand times when I might have heard them +and haven’t. I suppose it is because everything +is so very quiet and I’m alone in this part of the +building.” Then he glanced at his coat—a long, +double-breasted ulster—and rubbed his eyes +thoughtfully. “Why,” he exclaimed, “what a +curious shape the thing has taken! It’s swelled<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span> +out just as if someone were inside it. Or has my +eyesight suddenly gone wrong?” He leaned +forward and examined it closely. No. He was +not mistaken. The coat was no longer untenanted. +There was something inside it—something which +filled it like he had done; but it was something +to which he could ascribe no name. He could see +it there, and mentally feel that it was peering at +him with eyes full of the most jibing mockery and +hate; but he could not define it. It was something +quite outside his ken, something with which he had +had no previous acquaintance. He tried to whistle +and appear nonchalant, but it was of no avail. The +coat—his coat—had something in it, and that +something was staring back at him. What a fool he +had been to come so early. At last, with a supreme +effort, he took his eyes from the door, and, swinging +round in his chair, resumed smoking. He sat thus +for some moments, and then a board close behind +him creaked.</p> + +<p>Of course there is nothing in a creak—boards +and furniture are always creaking, and most people +attribute the creaking to a change in the temperature. +So did Mayhewe. “The room is beginning +to get warm—the gas has heated it,” he said; “that +is why.” Still he gradually lowered his eyes, and +when they rested on the mirror in front of him, he +gave the barest suspicion of a start. In the mirror +were reflected the door and the coat, but the latter +hung quite limply now. There was nothing whatever +filling it out.</p> + +<p>What in Heaven’s name had become of the thing?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span> +Where had it got to? Close beside Mayhewe was +the grate, and a sudden rustling in it, followed by +a hurried descent of soot, made him laugh outright. +The explanation was now so very simple. The +wind was responsible for it all—for the door handle, +the hat, the coat, and the creak. How truly +ridiculous! He would dress. With that object +in view he threw the end of his cigarette in the +fender and, rising, was about to quit his seat, when +his eyes fell on his gloves. He had thrown them +quite carelessly on the wash-stand, almost +immediately in front of him, and he had noticed +nothing remarkable about them then. But now—surely +it could not be the wind this time; there +were hands in them, and these hands were strangely +unlike his own. Whereas his fingers had blunt, +spatulate tips, the tops of these fingers were curved +and pointed like the talons of some cruel beast of +prey, and the palms were much longer and narrower +than his own. He stared at them, too fascinated +to do otherwise, and it seemed to him that they +shifted their position and came nearer to him, +with a slow, stealthy, silent motion, like that of +some monstrous spider creeping murderously towards +its helpless victim. He watched them for +some moments quite motionless, and then, yielding +to a sudden fit of ungovernable fury, he threw his +tobacco pouch at the nearest.</p> + +<p>It rolled convulsively over on its back after the +manner of some living stricken creature, and then, +gradually reassuming its shape, stealthily began +once more to approach him. At last his nerves<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span> +could stand it no longer. A demoniacal passion +to smash, burn, torture it seized him, and, springing +to his feet, he picked up his chair, and, swinging it +round his head, brought it down with the utmost +frenzy on the wash-stand. He was looking at his +handiwork—the broken china, chair legs, and gas +shade—when the door of his room opened and the +call-boy timidly entered.</p> + +<p>Mayhewe kept the stage waiting some minutes +that night, but the management did not abuse him +nearly so violently as he had anticipated, and the +next evening he was allotted another room.</p> + +<p>Then it transpired, leaked out through one of the +old supers who had worked at the theatre for years, +that room 25 had always borne the name of being +haunted, and that, excepting in circumstances such +as the present, it had invariably been kept locked. +Some two years ago, according to the old super, +when just such another emergency had occurred +and the room had been used, the same thing had +happened: the gentleman who had been put there +had been seized with a sudden fit of madness, and +had broken everything he could lay hands on; +and some time before that a similar experience had +befallen an actress who had unavoidably—there +being no other room available—occupied room +25.</p> + +<p>Now had Mayhewe not heard of these two cases, +he might have concluded, in spite of feeling sure +that he had been in a normal state of mind upon +entering the room, that what he had gone through +was due merely to an over-excited imagination;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span> +but since he now knew that others had witnessed +the same phenomena, he saw no reason to doubt +that there was some peculiarly sinister influence +attached to the room. As to the cause of the +haunting, he could elicit nothing more authentic +or definite than the somewhat vague recollections +of a very old actor. According to this rather +doubtful authority, shortly after the opening of the +theatre, one of the performers had suddenly developed +madness and had been confined in room 25 +till a suitable escort had been found to take him +to an asylum. It was the only tragic occurrence, +he asserted, that had ever taken place in that +theatre. Now, supposing this to be true—that a +madman really had been conducted from the +stage to room 25 and temporarily confined there—might +one not reasonably believe that in this +incident lay the origin of the hauntings? It was in +this room, in all probability, that the outbreak of +madness passed its most acute stage—that psychological +stage when the rational ego makes its last +desperate stand against the overwhelming assault +of a new and diseased self. And again—supposing +this incident to be a fact—what more likely than +that the immaterial insane ego of the afflicted man +would, at times, separate itself from his material +body and revisit the scene of its terrible conflict, +permanently taking up its abode there after its +material body had passed away? This theory—a +very possible one, to my mind—would have strong +support from parallel cases, for half the most +malignant forms of haunting are directly traceable<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span> +to the earth-bound spirits of the insane. There are +several houses within a short walking distance +of Bond Street that were once the temporary +homes of mentally afflicted people, and they are +now haunted in a more or less similar manner to +room 25.</p> + +<p>If this story of the old actor’s is not correct—if +his memory played him false—then of course one +must look around for some other solution; and as, +apparently, there is no history attached to the +Prince Regent Theatre itself, one must assume +either that the site of the theatre was haunted prior +to the erection of the present building; or that the +ghost was originally attached to some person who +once occupied room 25, and that it subsequently +left that person and remained in the room; or +that some article of furniture in room 25, possibly +even a fixture, was imported there from some badly +haunted locality. There is, indeed, evidence regarding +the first point; evidence that, either on or +close to the site of the theatre, the remains of prehistoric +animals—animals of a singularly savage +species, which makes it more than likely that they +met with a violent death—were unearthed; and as +ghostly phenomena in the form of animals are quite +as common as ghostly phenomena in the form of +human beings, the hauntings of room 25 may very +possibly be due to the spirit of one or more of these +creatures. Or again, they might be caused by +what is generally known as a Vice Elemental, or +“Neutrarian”; that is to say, a spirit that has +never inhabited a material body, but which is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span> +wholly hostile to the human species. Such spirits +are often, I believe, drawn to certain spots by the +lustful or malicious thoughts of individuals, and +this might well be the case at the Prince Regent’s +Theatre.</p> + +<p class="dots">.<span class="dot">.</span><span class="dot">.</span><span class="dot">.</span><span class="dot">.</span><span class="dot">.</span><span class="dot">.</span></p> + +<p>It was also during my engagement at the +Mercury that I heard of a haunting at the Lombard. +This theatre, it appears, has a ghostly visitant in +the form of a particularly malevolent-looking +clown.</p> + +<p>According to one report, a lady and her daughter—Mrs. +and Miss Dawkins—occupied box 3 one +January night during the run of an exceedingly +pretty modern version of <cite>Cinderella</cite>.</p> + +<p>The lights were down and all eyes were focused +on Cinderella, one of the prettiest and daintiest +little actresses in London, dressed in pink and sitting +before a very realistic make-belief of a kitchen fire, +when Miss Dawkins, who had her elbows resting +on the balustrade and was leaning well forward, +heard a faint ejaculation from close beside her. +Fearing lest her mother was ill, she turned sharply +round, and was somewhat surprised to see that Mrs. +Dawkins had left her seat and was leaning against +the wall of the box with her arms folded and a +most satirical smile on her face. Both the attitude +and the expression were so entirely novel that Miss +Dawkins could only conclude that her mother +had suddenly taken leave of her senses; and she +was deliberating what to do, when a feeling that a +sudden metamorphosis was about to take place<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span> +held her spellbound. Bit by bit her mother seemed +to fade away, to melt into the background; the +dim outline and the general posture remained, but +instead of the actual body and well-known face, +she saw something else gradually begin to form +and to usurp their place. Her mother had very +delicate and beautifully shaped hands, but these +vanished, and the hands Miss Dawkins now looked +on were large and red and coarse—horribly coarse. +Fearful of what she might see next, but totally +unable to fight against some strange, controlling +agency, she continued to look. First, her eyes +rested on a pair of sleeves—white, baggy, and +soiled; then on a broad, deep chest, also clad in +white and decorated in the most fantastic manner +conceivable in the centre; then on a short, immensely +thick neck; and then on the face. The +shock she now received was acute. Instinct had +prepared her for something very startling, but for +nothing quite so grotesque, nor so wholly at variance +with the general atmosphere of the theatre. It +was the painted, crinkled face of a clown—not a +merry, jesting grimaldi, but a clown of a different +type—a clown without a smile—a clown born and +fully trained to his business in Hell. As he stood +there glaring at the footlights, every feature, every +atom of his person breathed out hate—hate of a +nature so noxious and intense that it seemed to Miss +Dawkins as if the very air were poisoned by it. +Being a devout Catholic, she at once crossed herself +and, although almost powerless with horror, began +to pray. The face then faded till it entirely disappeared,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span> +and Miss Dawkins once again found +herself gazing upon the well-known countenance +of her mother.</p> + +<p>“Why are you standing?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“I am sure I don’t know,” Mrs. Dawkins replied. +“But I don’t like this box. I think there is something +very unpleasant about it. I haven’t been +myself for the last few minutes. When I was +sitting by you just now, I suddenly became obsessed +with a bitter hatred against everyone on the +stage. The very sight of them maddened me. It +seemed to me I had met them all in a former existence +and that they had done me some irreparable +injury. I got up and began to plot how I could +best get even with them. Then the idea of setting +fire to the theatre seized me. I had clear visions +of a small, dimly lighted room, with which I was +strangely familiar, down below the stage in a dark, +draughty basement. I knew every inch of the +place as if I had lived there all my life. ‘I will go +there,’ I said to myself, ‘and apply a match. If +anyone sees me, no one will suspect. They will only +say, “It’s old Tom. He didn’t get the chuck +after all. He’s come back.”’ I was repeating the +words ‘It’s old Tom,’ and ‘Fire,’ when something +seemed to strike me very forcibly on the forehead. +This caused me the greatest agony for a moment. +Then you spoke, and I was myself again.”</p> + +<p>“Would you like to go home?” Miss Dawkins +asked anxiously.</p> + +<p>“I think I would,” was the response. And they +went.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span></p> + +<p>Subsequently, a few judicious inquiries elicited +no little light on the matter.</p> + +<p>Many years before, an old actor, called Tom +Weston, had been employed annually in pantomime +at the Lombard as clown. Like so many +of his profession, however, particularly the older +ones, he took to drink; and he was so often intoxicated +on the stage that the management were +at last obliged to dismiss him. He took his dismissal +very badly, and one night, having gone to the +theatre in disguise, he was discovered in the act of +setting fire to a room immediately beneath the +stage. In consideration for his many years’ service +and age, the management did not prosecute, but +recommended his friends to keep him under close +supervision. Tom, however, very soon ceased to +cause the management any anxiety, for, two days +after he had attempted, in so diabolical a manner, +to wreak his vengeance on all who had been associated +with him at the theatre, he shot himself dead +in his own home. But on every anniversary of his +death, so it is affirmed, he is either seen or heard, +or his presence is in some way demonstrated, in +box 3 of the Lombard Theatre. That his spirit +should frequent that particular spot in the theatre +seems to be a fact for which no reason can be +assigned.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span></p> + + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a><span class="g">CHAPTER VI</span><br /> +<br /> +THE RETICULE</h2> + + +<p><span class="smcap">Between</span> Norwich and Swaffham, low down in a +little valley, there once stood a mill. It is now a +ruin, and all the people round studiously avoid it +after nightfall. It must be admitted that they +have some reason for doing so in view of the incidents +I am about to relate.</p> + +<p>Some years ago on an early autumn afternoon two +ladies, Miss Smith and Miss Raven, fashion designers +to the firm of Kirsome & Gooting, Sloane +Street, London, set out from Norwich for a tramp +into the country. Both girls—for they were only +girls—were typically modern; that is to say, they +were bonny and athletic, and, despite the sedentary +nature of their vocation, extremely fond of outdoor +life. Miss Raven, the elder of the two, was +nice-looking without perhaps being actually pretty; +but Miss Smith was undeniably a beauty. Had +she been a lady of title or an actress, all the society +papers would have been full of her. She did not, +however, crave for notoriety; she was quite content +with the homage of most of the young men +whom she knew, and the unspoken admiration +of many men whom she did not know, but who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span> +looked at her out of doors or sat near to her in +theatres and restaurants.</p> + +<p>She was much attached to Miss Raven, and as +the two strode along, swinging their arms, their +tongues wagged merrily and without intermission. +On and on, down one hill and up another, past wood +and brook and hamlet they went, till a gradual +fading of the light warned them it was about time to +think of turning back.</p> + +<p>“We must go as far as that old ruin,” Miss Raven +said, pointing to a tumble-down white building +that nestled close to a winding stream. “I’ve +never seen anything quite so picturesque.”</p> + +<p>“And I’ve never seen anything quite so weird,” +Miss Smith replied. “I’m not at all sure I like it. +Besides, I’m desperately thirsty. I want my tea. +We’d much better go home.”</p> + +<p>They had an argument, and it was eventually +agreed that they should go on—but not beyond +a certain point. “Not an inch farther, mind,” +Miss Smith said, “or I’ll turn back and leave you.”</p> + +<p>The ruin lay in a hollow, and as the two girls +descended the slope leading to it, a mist rose from +the ground as if to greet them. They quickened +their steps, and, approaching nearer, perceived a +mill wheel—the barest skeleton, crowned with +moss and ferns and dripping with slime. The pool +into which it dripped was overgrown in places with +reeds and chickweed, but was singularly bare and +black in the centre, and suggestive of very great +depth. Weeping willows bordered the stream, +and their sloping, stunted forms were gradually<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span> +growing more and more indistinct in the oncoming +mist.</p> + +<p>The space in front of the house, once, no doubt, +a prettily cultivated garden, was now full of rank +grass and weeds, and dotted here and there with +unsightly mounds consisting of fallen bricks and +mortar. Some of these mounds, long, low, and +narrow, were unpleasantly suggestive of graves, +whilst the atmosphere of the place, the leaden-hued +and mystic atmosphere, charged to the utmost +with the smell of decayed trees and mouldy walls, +might well have been that of an ancient churchyard.</p> + +<p>A sense of insufferable gloom, utterly different +from any they had ever before experienced, took +possession of the two girls.</p> + +<p>“This place depresses me horribly. I don’t know +when I’ve felt so sad,” Miss Smith observed. “It’s +very stupid of me, I know, but I can’t help thinking +some great tragedy must have taken place here.”</p> + +<p>“I feel rather like that too,” Miss Raven responded. +“I’ve never seen such dreariness. Do +you see those shadows on the water? How strange +they are! There’s nothing that I can see to account +for them. There’s certainly nothing the least like +them in the sedge. Besides, there oughtn’t to be +any shadows there. There are none anywhere +else. Look! Oh, do look! They are changing. +They are completely different now. See, I’ll throw +a stone at them.” Her throw, missing its mark, +was so characteristically girlish that Miss Smith, +despite her leanings to suffragism, laughed. Miss<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span> +Raven threw again, and this time a deep plomb +announced her success. “There,” she cried +triumphantly. “Now do you see it?”</p> + +<p>“I see something,” Miss Smith answered. Then, +with sudden eagerness: “Yes, you are right. The +shadows are continually changing. They seem to +separate themselves from the sedge, and fall like +live things into the pool. By the way, the pool +seems to be growing darker and bigger. I don’t +like the place at all. For Heaven’s sake let’s get +away from it!”</p> + +<p>Miss Raven, however, was too fascinated. Stepping +carefully, so as to avoid the mud and long grass, +she went right up to the pool and peered into it.</p> + +<p>“How fearfully deep and still it is,” she said. +“What a beastly place to end one’s days in.” +Then she gave a sudden cry. “Aileen! Here! +Come here, quick!”</p> + +<p>Miss Smith hastened up to her. “What is it?” +she said. “How you frightened me!”</p> + +<p>Miss Raven pointed excitedly at the water. It +was no longer tranquil. The chickweed round the +edges began to oscillate, white bubbles formed in the +centre, and then, quite suddenly, the entire surface +became a seething, hissing, rushing, roaring whirlpool, +which commenced rising in the most hideous +and menacing manner. Seizing Miss Raven by the +arm, Miss Smith dragged her back, and the two +fled in terror. The fog, however, was so thick that +they missed their way. They failed to strike +the road, and, instead, found themselves plunging +deeper and deeper into a fearful quagmire of mud<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span> +and the rankest compound of rushes, weeds, and +grass.</p> + +<p>They were just despairing of ever extricating +themselves when Miss Smith felt a light tap on her +shoulder, and swinging round, was almost startled +out of her senses at the sight of a very white face +glaring at her. Miss Raven, noticing that her +companion had stopped, also turned round; and +she too received a shock. The face she saw was +so very white; the eyes—intently fixed on Miss +Smith—so strangely luminous; the head—covered +with red, shaggy hair—so disproportionately large; +and the figure—that of a hunchback youth—as a +whole so extraordinarily grotesque.</p> + +<p>He made no sound, but, signing to them to follow +him, he began to move away with a queer, shambling +gait. The girls, thankful enough to have found a +guide, however strange, kept close at his heels, +and soon found themselves once again on the roadway. +Here their conductor came to a halt, and +producing from under his coat what looked like a +lady’s reticule, he was about to thrust it into Miss +Smith’s hand when their eyes met, and, to her +intense astonishment, he uttered a bitter cry of +disappointment and vanished. His action and +disappearance were so inexplicable that the girls, +completely demoralised, took to their heels and ran +without stopping till the ruins were far in their +rear, and they were well on their way home.</p> + +<p>They related their experience to the people with +whom they were staying, and were then told for +the first time that the ruin was well known to be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span> +haunted. “Nothing will persuade any of the +villagers to visit the mill pond after dusk,” their +hostess remarked, “especially at this time of the +year, when they declare the water suddenly rises +and follows them. The place has a most sinister +reputation, and certainly several people, to my +knowledge, have committed suicide there. The +last to do so was Davy Dyer, the hunchback, whose +ghost you must have just seen. His was rather a +sad case, as I have good reason to know. Would +you like to hear it?”</p> + +<p>The girls eagerly assented, and their hostess told +them as follows:</p> + +<p>“Ten years ago there stood on the spot you +visited this afternoon a very picturesque house +called the ‘Gyp Mill.’ It was then extremely old, +and as its foundations were faulty, it was thought a +severe storm would, sooner or later, completely +demolish it. Partly for this reason, and partly +because the mill pool was said to be haunted, it +stood for a long time untenanted. At last it was +taken by a widow named Dyer. Mrs. Dyer was quite +a superior kind of person. She had at one time, +I believe, kept a fairly good class girls’ school in +Bury St. Edmunds, but losing her connection +through illness, she had been obliged to think of +some other means of gaining a livelihood. When +she came to the Gyp Mill she cultivated the garden +and sold its produce; provided teas for picnic parties +in the summer; and let out rooms, chiefly to artists.</p> + +<p>“She had one son, Davy, a very intelligent boy +of about eighteen, but hopelessly deformed. He<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span> +was not only hunchbacked but he had an abnormally +large head; and what was quite unpardonable +in the eyes of the village children, who +tormented him shamefully, a mass of the brightest +red hair.</p> + +<p>“Well, one day, a girl whom I will call Beryl +Denver, came to stay with me. Beryl was extremely +pretty and horribly spoilt. She had gone on the +stage against her parents’ wishes and had been +an immediate success. At the time I am speaking +of she had just had an offer of marriage from a +duke, and it was to hear what I had to say about +it—for I am, I think, the only person from whom +she ever asks advice—that she was paying me this +visit. After being with me three days, however, +and changing her mind with regard to the duke’s +offer at least a dozen times, she suddenly announced +that she must seek some more countrified +place to stay in. ‘I want to go right away from +everywhere,’ she said, ‘so that I can forget—forget +that there is such a place as London. Don’t +you know of any pretty cottage or picturesque +old farm, near here, that I could stay at?’</p> + +<p>“I suggested the Gyp Mill, and she started off +at once to look at it.</p> + +<p>“She came back full of enthusiasm. ‘It’s a +delightful spot,’ she said. ‘I’m glad I went to +see it—the flowers are lovely, and the old woman’s +a dear—but I couldn’t stay there. I couldn’t +stand that hunchback son of hers. His white face +and big dark eyes alarmed me horribly. I don’t +think it’s at all right he should be at large.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span></p> + +<p>“‘Poor Davy,’ I remarked. ‘His appearance +is certainly against him, but I can assure you he is +absolutely harmless. I know him well.’</p> + +<p>“Beryl shook her head. ‘You know my views, +Aunty,’ she said (she always calls me Aunty although +I am not related to her in any way). ‘All +ugly people have a kink of badness in them somewhere. +They must be either cruel, or spiteful, +or treacherous, or, in some way or other, evilly +disposed. I am quite certain that looks reflect +the mind. No, I couldn’t endure that boy. I +can’t stay there.’</p> + +<p>“In the morning, however, as I had fully anticipated, +she changed her mind. A fly was sent +for, and she drove off to the Gyp Mill, taking all +her luggage with her. How Mrs. Dyer ever got +it up her narrow staircase I can’t think, but she +must have managed it somehow, for Beryl stayed +and, contrary to my expectations, for more than +one night.</p> + +<p>“Davy, she afterwards informed me, soon got +on her nerves. Always when she went out she +caught him covertly peeping at her from behind +the window curtain of the little front parlour; +and if ever she stood for a moment to chat with +his mother, she could see him slyly watching her +through a chink in the doorway. She had seldom, +so far, met him out of doors; but as she was +returning from a walk one afternoon, she came +across a group of village children shouting at and +jostling someone very roughly in their midst, and +approaching nearer saw that the object of their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span> +abuse was Davy, and that, in addition to pushing +and pummelling him, they were tormenting him +with stinging nettles—a very favourite device of +the children in this district. Filled with disgust, +rather than pity (Beryl, like most modern girls, +is wanting in real sentiment, and in this instance +simply hated to think that anyone could derive +amusement from so ungainly a creature), she +interfered.</p> + +<p>“‘You abominable little wretches!’ she cried. +‘Leave him alone at once. Do you hear?’</p> + +<p>“Had a bomb fallen, the children could not have +been more surprised. One or two of the boys +were inclined to be rude, but on the rest the effect +of Beryl’s looks and clothes (the latter in particular) +was magical. Gazing at her open-mouthed, they +drew back and allowed Davy to continue his way.</p> + +<p>“After this, Davy peeped more than ever, and +Beryl, losing patience, determined to put a stop +to it. Catching him in the act of following her +through the fields one morning, she turned on him +in a fury.</p> + +<p>“‘How dare you?’ she demanded. ‘How dare +you annoy me like this? Go home at once.’</p> + +<p>“‘This is my home, lady,’ Davy replied, his +eyes on the ground and his cheeks crimson.</p> + +<p>“‘Then you must choose some other route,’ +Beryl retorted; ‘and for goodness’ sake don’t be +everlastingly looking at me. I can’t stand it. No +wonder those children rounded on you, you——’ +She was going to call him some very strong name—for +Beryl when roused didn’t stick at trifles—but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span> +suddenly checked herself. She began to realise +that this queer, distorted little object was in love +with her. Now no girl in London, probably, had +more admirers than Beryl. Peers, politicians, +authors, men of all vocations and classes had +succumbed to her beauty, and she had deemed +herself pretty well blasé. But here was a novelty. +A poor, ostracised rustic hunchback—the incarnation +of ugliness and simplicity. ‘You know +how the horrible often fascinates one,’ she said +to me later, ‘for instance, a nasty tooth, or some +other equally horrible defect in a person’s face, +which one keeps on looking at however much one +tries not to—well, it was a fascination of this kind +that possessed me now. I felt I must see more +of the hunchback and egg him on to the utmost.’</p> + +<p>“Apparently it was owing to this fascination +that Beryl, changing her tactics, encouraged Davy +to talk to her, and assuming an interest in the +garden, which she knew was his one hobby, gradually +drew him out. Very shy and embarrassed at +first, he could only very briefly answer her questions; +but soon deceived by her manner—for Beryl could +act just as cleverly off the stage as on it—he grew +bolder, and talked well on his favourite subject, +natural history. He really knew a great deal, and +Beryl, despite the fact that she could hardly tell +the difference between a hollyhock and marigold, +couldn’t help being impressed.</p> + +<p>“She walked home with him that day; and for +days afterwards she was often to be seen in his +company.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span></p> + +<p>“‘He’ll miss you dreadfully when you go, +ma’am,’ Mrs. Dyer said to her. ‘He thinks the +world of you. He told me last night that he only +wished he could do something to show you how +grateful he is for your kindness to him.’ Of course, +Mrs. Dyer did not say that Davy was in love—but +Beryl knew it. She knew that to him she was a +deified being and that he absolutely adored her. +Thus matters stood, when a letter from the duke +made Beryl decide to leave Gyp Mill at once and +return with all speed to London. She walked to +the post office to dispatch a telegram, and Davy +went with her. Beryl knew that this would be the +last time, in all probability, that she would ever +walk with him; and feeling that she must find +out how far his love for her had progressed she +agreed to his proposal that they should return home +by a rather longer route. He wished, he said, to +show her a garden which was by far the prettiest +in all the country round, and it would not take +them more than a quarter of a mile or so out of their +way. Of course Beryl looked upon this suggestion +as a mere pretext on Davy’s part for prolonging the +walk, and she wondered whether he would say +anything, or whether his passion would be held in +check by his natural respect for her superior social +position. She was disappointed. Although she +saw love for her shining more brightly than ever +in his eyes, he did not speak of it; he talked only of +flowers and of the great beauties of nature. Bored +to distraction, she at last cut him short, and, declaring +that she had no time to waste, hurried on. It was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span> +not until they had reached home that she discovered +she had lost her reticule, containing not only a +purse full of sovereigns but the letter she had just +received from the duke. She distinctly remembered +having it with her, she said, when Davy was prosing +over the stupid flowers, and she supposed she must +have left it somewhere in the garden, probably on +the seat where they had sat for a few minutes. +Davy, of course, went back at once to look for it, +but when he returned an hour or so later and in +crestfallen tones told her that he could not find +it, her anger knew no bounds. She did not actually +call him a fool, but she made him clearly understand +she thought him one; and he set off again almost +immediately to have another look for it. He did +not come back this time till close on midnight, and +he had not the courage to tell her of his failure. +His mother did it for him. Beryl went away early +the following morning, too indignant to shake hands +with either Mrs. Dyer or her son. ‘If Davy didn’t +actually take the reticule,’ she wrote to me some +days later, ‘it was all owing to him—to his bothering +me to see that rotten garden—that I lost it; but +I firmly believe he has it. Ugly faces, you know, +are indicative of ugly minds—of a bad kink somewhere.’</p> + +<p>“Of course the affair of the reticule soon became +public property. It was advertised for in the local +papers, and the woman in the post office told everybody +that she remembered seeing it in Beryl’s hand +when she left the shop. ‘Davy,’ she said, ‘was +with Miss Denver at the time, and I particularly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span> +noticed that he walked very close to her and watched +her in a peculiarly furtive manner.’</p> + +<p>“Now the villagers, with whom the Dyers had +always been unpopular, were not slow in taking up +the cue, and consequently Davy, now waylaid +by armies of children calling him thief, and even +beating him, never had a moment’s peace.</p> + +<p>“At last he was found one morning in the mill-pond +drowned, and it was generally believed that +remorse for his sins had made him commit suicide. +His mother alone thought otherwise. I did not +see Beryl nor hear anything of her for at least two +years after Davy’s death, when to my surprise +she drove up to the door one day with her usual +pile of luggage.</p> + +<p>“‘Who is it this time?’ I said, after we had +exchanged greetings. ‘The duke again!’</p> + +<p>“‘Oh dear no,’ Beryl replied. ‘I broke it off +definitely with him long ago. He was too boring +for words, always dangling after me and never letting +me go out with anyone else. If he had been tolerably +good-looking I might have stood it, but he +wasn’t. He was hopelessly plain. However, I +made some use of him, and he certainly gave me +good presents. I have been engaged several times +since, and I’ve come now to ask your advice about +the Earl of C——’s eldest son. Shall I marry him +or not? Do you think he’s worth it?’</p> + +<p>“I did not answer her at once, but let her ramble +on, till she suddenly turned to me and said, ‘Do +you remember the last time I was here? Two +years ago! You know I stayed at that delightful<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span> +old mill house—the Gyp something, and lost my +reticule. Well, I found it some time afterwards +in my hat-box. I hadn’t taken it out with me that +day after all. And I could have sworn I had. +Wasn’t it funny?’</p> + +<p>“‘Extraordinary, perhaps,’ I remarked, with +rather more severity in my voice than I had ever +used to her before, ‘but hardly funny.’ And I was +about to relate to her all that had occurred in +the interim, when something checked me. After +all, I thought, it would be just as well for this spoilt, +heartless little London actress to go to the Gyp +Mill and find out for herself.</p> + +<p>“‘Oh, I suppose I ought to have written to the +people and let them know,’ she said carelessly, ‘but +I was really too busy. I always have such lots +to do. Such heaps of correspondence to attend to, +and so many visits to make. If it’s a fine day to-morrow +I’ll walk over and explain.’</p> + +<p>“I did not, of course, expect Beryl would go, but +greatly to my surprise, soon after luncheon, she +came into my bedroom in her hat and coat. ‘I’m +off,’ she said. ‘I think the walk will do me good. +And, look here, don’t wait dinner for me, because +in all probability I’ll stay the night. It all depends +upon how I feel. If I’m not back by eight you +need not expect me till to-morrow. Bye-bye.’</p> + +<p>“She stole to my side and kissed me, and, armed +with an umbrella and mackintosh, set off up the +street. I watched her till she turned the corner. +Then I lay down and wondered what sort of a reception +she would meet with at the hands of Mrs.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span> +Dyer. As the afternoon waned the sky grew ominously +dark, and the wind rose. Presently big drops +of rain spluttered against the window, and there +was every indication of a very severe storm. Had +Beryl been on good terms with Mrs. Dyer my mind +would have been at rest, as she would have been +able to take refuge at the Mill, but, knowing Mrs. +Dyer’s feelings towards her, I doubted very much +if Mrs. Dyer would allow her to set foot within the +house; and she would have some distance to walk +before she could reach another shelter.</p> + +<p>“Down came the rain in grim earnest, and that +night witnessed the worst storm Norwich had known +for many years. Beryl did not return. I sat up +till twelve wondering what had become of her—for +despite this wayward child’s many faults I +was much attached to her—and slept very little for +the rest of the night. In the morning my maid +came into my room in a breathless state of excitement.</p> + +<p>“‘Oh, mum,’ she exclaimed, ‘the storm has +destroyed half Norfolk.’ (This, of course, I knew +to be an exaggeration.) ‘What do you think! +Simkins’ Store is blowed down, nearly all the +chimneypots are off in Fore Street, and the milkman +has just told me the Gyp Mill is under water +and Mrs. Dyer is drowned!’</p> + +<p>“‘What!’ I shrieked. ‘The Gyp Mill under +water! Are you sure? Miss Denver was staying +there last night. Call a cab—I must go there at +once.’</p> + +<p>“The maid flew; and I was feverishly scrambling<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span> +into my clothes, when, to my utmost relief, in +walked Beryl.</p> + +<p>“‘So you’ve heard,’ she said, looking rather pale, +but otherwise quite composed. ‘The Gyp Mill +valley is under water, and old Mrs. Dyer is drowned. +It was rather lucky for me that I didn’t go there +after all, wasn’t it? Quite a narrow escape, in fact.’</p> + +<p>“‘Thank God, you’re safe!’ I exclaimed, drawing +her into my arms and kissing her frantically. +‘Tell me all about it.’</p> + +<p>“‘Oh, there isn’t much to tell,’ she said. ‘When +I got a mile or two on the road I found I had quite +forgotten the way, so I inquired of the first person I +met, a labourer, and he said, “When you come to +the duck pond bear sharply to your left.” Well, +I trudged on and on, and I am sure I must have gone +miles, but no duck pond; and I was beginning to +despair of ever seeing it, when a sudden swerve in +the road revealed it to me. The sky was very dark +and threatening, and the wind—you know how I +detest wind—sorely tried my temper. It was perfectly +fiendish. Well, when I got to the pond I +found there were two roads and I had quite forgotten +which of them I had to take. I was standing +there shivering, feeling horribly bored, when to my +joy a figure suddenly hove in view. It had grown +so dark that I could not make out whether the +stranger was a man or a woman. Besides, I +couldn’t see a face at all, only a short, squat body +clad in some sort of ill-fitting fustian garment. I +shouted out, “Can you tell me the way to the Gyp +Mill?” but could get no reply. The strange<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span> +creature simply put out one hand, and taking the +road to the right, beckoned to me to follow. Then +I suddenly remembered that the other person—the +labouring man—had told me to take the road to the +left, and I ran after the curious-looking individual +shouting, “The Gyp Mill.—Do you hear?—I +want to go to the Gyp Mill. Mrs. Dyer’s.” Again +I got no response, but the hand waved me on more +vigorously than before.</p> + +<p>“‘It was now so dark that I could hardly see +where I was treading, and the wind was so strong +that I had the greatest difficulty in keeping my feet. +I battled on, however, and after what seemed to +me an eternity, we eventually stopped outside a +building that showed a twinkling light in one of the +windows. My conductor opened a wicket gate +and, signing to me to follow, walked me up a narrow +winding path to the front door. Here he halted +and, turning suddenly round on me, showed his face. +It was the Dyer boy—Davy, I think they called +him. Davy the hunchback.’ Here Beryl paused.</p> + +<p>“‘Are you quite sure?’ I asked.</p> + +<p>“‘Absolutely,’ she replied. ‘I couldn’t mistake +him. There he was—with his hunchback, +huge head, cheeks looking whiter than ever—and +red hair. How I could see that it was red in the +dark I can’t tell you, but all the same I could, and +moreover, the colour was very clear and distinct. +Well, he stood and looked at me for some seconds +beseechingly, and then said something—but so +quickly I couldn’t catch what it was. I told him +so, and he repeated it, jabber, jabber, jabber. Then<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span> +I grew angry. “Why have you brought me here?” +I shouted. “I wanted to go to the Gyp Mill.” +He spoke again in the same incomprehensible way, +and holding out his hands as if to implore my forgiveness, +suddenly disappeared. Where he went +to is a mystery. The rain had now begun to fall in +torrents, and to attempt to go on was madness. +Consequently, I rapped at the door and asked the +woman who opened it if she could put me up for the +night. “Yes, miss,” she said. “We have a spare +room, if you don’t mind it’s being rather small. +The gentleman that has been staying here left this +morning. Did anyone recommend you?” “Mr. +Dyer brought me here,” I said, “and, I believe, he +is somewhere outside.” “Mr. Dyer!” the woman +exclaimed, looking at me in the oddest manner. +“I don’t know a Mr. Dyer. Who do you mean?” +“Why, Davy Dyer,” I replied, “the son of the old +woman who lives at the Mill. Davy Dyer, the +hunchback.”</p> + +<p>“‘Then, to my amazement, the woman caught +me by the arm. “Davy Dyer, the hunchback!” +she cried. “Why, miss, you must either be +dreaming or mad. Davy Dyer drowned himself in +the Mill pool two years ago!”’”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span></p> + + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a><span class="g">CHAPTER VII</span><br /> +<br /> +THE COOMBE<br /> +<br /> +<span class="f8">A CASE OF A WILTSHIRE ELEMENTAL</span></h2> + + +<p><span class="smcap">People</span> are not half particular enough about new +houses. So long as the soil is gravel, so long as the +rooms are large and airy, the wall-papers artistic, +and there’s no basement, the rest does not matter; +at least not as a rule. Few think of ghosts or of +superphysical influences. And yet the result of +such a consideration is what would probably weigh +most with me in selecting a newly built house. +But then, I have had disagreeable experiences, and +others I know have had them too.</p> + +<p>Let me quote, for example, what befell my old +acquaintance, Fitzsimmons. Robert Fitzsimmons +was for years editor of the <cite>Daily Gossip</cite>, but +finally retired from the post owing to ill health. +His doctor recommended him some quiet, restful +place in the country, so he decided to migrate to +Wiltshire. After scouring the county for some +time, he alighted on a spot, not very far from +Devizes, that attracted him immensely.</p> + +<p>It was prettily wooded, at least he called it +prettily wooded, within easy walking distance of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span> +the village of Arkabye, and about a quarter of a +mile from the site of an ancient barrow that had +just been removed to make way for several cottages. +Fitzsimmons loved beeches, particularly copper +beeches, which he noticed flourished here exceedingly, +and the thought of living surrounded by +these trees gave him infinite satisfaction. He +finally bought a small piece of land in the coombe, +getting it freehold at a ridiculously low figure, and +erected a house on it, which he called “Shane +Garth” after a remote ancestor.</p> + +<p>The first month seems to have passed quite uneventfully. +It was true the children, Bobbie and +Jane, said they heard noises, and declared someone +always came and tapped against their window +after they were in bed; but Fitzsimmons attributed +these disturbances to mice and bats with which +the coombe was infested. One thing, however, +greatly disturbed his wife and himself, and that +was the naughtiness of the children. Prior to +their coming to the new house they had been as +good as gold and had got on extremely well together; +but the change of surroundings seemed +to have wrought in them a complete change of +character.</p> + +<p>They were continually getting into mischief of +some sort, and hardly a day passed that they did +not quarrel and fight, and always in a remarkably +vindictive manner. Bobbie would creep up behind +Jane, and pull her hair and pinch her, whilst +Jane in revenge would break Bobbie’s toys and do +something nasty to him while he slept.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span></p> + +<p>Then their language was so bad. They used +expressions that shocked everyone in the house, and +no one could say where they had picked them up. +But worst of all was their cruelty to animals. +The nurse came to Mrs. Fitzsimmons one morning +to show her a fowl that was limping across the yard +in great pain. Bobbie had pelted it with stones +and broken its leg.</p> + +<p>He was punished; but the very next day he +and Jane were caught inflicting the most abominable +tortures on a mouse. Jane rivalled the +Chinese in the ingenuity of her cruelties. She +scalded insects very slowly to death, and scandalised +the village children by showing them a rabbit and +sundry smaller animals which she had vivisected +and skinned alive.</p> + +<p>One does occasionally hear of epidemics of +cruelty breaking out in certain districts. A year +or two ago, cats came in for especially bad treatment +in the neighbourhood of Red Lion Square, +and the culprits, girls as well as boys, were invariably +excused, it being suggested that the war +had excited their naturally high spirits. I remember, +too, in Cornwall, not so very long ago, children +being seized with a mania for torturing birds. +They caught them with fish-hooks, and never grew +tired of watching them choke and writhe and otherwise +distort themselves in their death agonies. In +Wales, too, there are periodical outbursts of similar +passions. Some years ago a child was prosecuted +in South Wales for pulling a live rabbit in half; +but the magistrates acquitted the accused on the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span> +plea that it was only following the example of nearly +all the other children in the district. Well, Robert +Fitzsimmons wondered if his children had fallen +victims to one of these epidemics, and he suggested +to his wife that they should be sent away to a +boarding school. To his astonishment, however, +Mrs. Fitzsimmons took a more lenient view of their +conduct.</p> + +<p>“It’s no use being too hard on them,” she said. +“I don’t believe for one moment that Bobbie and +Jane realise that animals can feel as we do—that +human beings have not the monopoly of the nervous +system. We must get a governess—someone who +can explain things to them with tact and patience, +and not get out of temper, like you do, Robert. +The children must be treated with kindness and +sympathy.”</p> + +<p>Fitzsimmons could hardly believe that it was his +wife speaking; she had been such a keen champion +of animals, and had boxed the ears of more than one +London ragamuffin whom she had caught ill-treating +a dog or cat. However, he gave way, and agreed +that the children should be committed to the care +of a benevolent old lady whom Mrs. Fitzsimmons +knew, and who might be engaged as governess and +domiciled in the house. This matter was barely +settled when Mr. Merryweather, an artist friend of +Robert Fitzsimmons, came to stay at Shane Garth, +and it was on the evening after his arrival that +Fitzsimmons first came to realise that the coombe +was haunted. He had been out all day fishing, +alone, his friend, Merryweather, being engaged<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span> +painting a portrait of Mrs. Fitzsimmons and Jane; +and the evening having well set in, he was now on +his way home. Passing the site of the ancient +barrow, he could see in the hollow beneath him the +welcome lights of Shane Garth. He paused for a +moment to refill his pipe, and then commenced +to descend into the coombe. It was an exquisite +night, the air warm and fragrant with the scent of +newly mown hay, the moon full, and the sky one +mass of scintillating stars. Fitzsimmons was enchanted. +Again and again he threw back his head +and drew in the air in great gulps. When halfway +down the hill, however, he became aware of +a sudden change; the atmosphere was no longer +light and exhilarating, but dark, heavy, and oppressive.</p> + +<p>He noticed, too, that there were strange lights +and that the shadows that flickered to and fro the +broad highway continually came and went, and +differed, in some strangely subtle fashion, from any +shadows he had ever seen before. But what +attracted his attention even more was a tree—a +tall tree with a trunk of the most peculiar colour. +In the quick-changing light of the coombe it looked +yellow—a lurid yellow streaked with black after +the nature of a tiger’s skin—and Fitzsimmons never +remembered seeing it there before. He halted for a +moment to look at it more intently, and it seemed +to him to change its position. He rubbed his eyes +to make sure he was not dreaming and looked again. +Yes, without a doubt it was nearer to the roadway, +and very gradually it was getting nearer still.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span></p> + +<p>Moreover, although the night was still, so still +that hardly a leaf of any of the other trees quivered, +its branches were in a state of the most violent +agitation.</p> + +<p>Fitzsimmons was not normally nervous, and on +the subject of the superphysical he was decidedly +sceptical; but he could not help admitting that it +was queer, and he began to wonder whether there +was not some other way of getting home. Ashamed, +however, of his cowardice, he at length made up his +mind to look closer at the tree, and ascertain if +possible the cause of its remarkable behaviour. +He advanced towards it, and it moved again. +This time the moonlight threw it into such strong +relief that it stood out with photographic clearness, +every detail in its composition most vividly +portrayed.</p> + +<p>What exactly he saw, Fitzsimmons has never been +prevailed upon to say. All one can get out of him +is “that it had the semblance to a tree, but that the +semblance was quite superficial. It was in reality +something quite different, and that the difference +was so marked and unexpected that he was immeasurably +shocked.” I asked Fitzsimmons why +he was shocked, and he said, “By the obscenity of +the thing—by its unparalleled beastliness.” He +would not say any more. It took him several +minutes to sum up courage to pass it, and all the +while it stood close to the roadside waiting for +him. Fitzsimmons had been a tolerably good +athlete in his youth—he won the open hundred at +school—and though well over forty, he was spare<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span> +and tough, and as sound as a bell with regard to +his heart and lungs. Bracing himself up, he made +a sudden dash, and had passed it, by some dozen or +so yards, when he heard something drop with a soft +plumb, and the next minute there came the quick +patter of bare feet in hot pursuit. Frightened as he +was, Fitzsimmons does not think his terror was +quite so great as his feeling of utter loathing and +abhorrence. He felt if the thing touched him, +however slightly, he would be contaminated body +and soul, and would never be able to look a decent +person in the face again.</p> + +<p>Hence his sprint was terrific—faster, he thinks, +than he ever did in the school Close—and he kept +praying too all the while.</p> + +<p>But the thing gained on him, and he feels certain +it would have been all up with him, had not a party +of cyclists suddenly appeared on the scene and +scared it off. He heard it go back pattering up +the coombe, and there was something about those +sounds that told him more plainly than words that +he had not seen the last of it, and that it would +come to him again. When he entered the house +he encountered Merryweather and his wife together, +and he could not help noticing that they +seemed on strangely familiar terms and very upset +and startled at seeing him. He spoke to his wife +about it afterwards, and though she vehemently +denied there was any truth in his suspicions, she +could not meet his gaze with her customary frankness. +Merryweather was the last person on earth +he would have suspected of flirting with anyone,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span> +and up to the present time Mrs. Robert Fitzsimmons +had always behaved with the utmost propriety +and decorum; indeed, everyone regarded her as +a model wife and mother, and particular, even to +prudishness.</p> + +<p>The incident worried Fitzsimmons a great deal, +and for nights he lay awake thinking about +it.</p> + +<p>The governess was the next person to experience +the hauntings. Her room was a sort of attic, +large and full of quaint angles, and it looked out on +to the coombe. Well, one night she had gone to +bed rather early, owing to a very bad headache +which had been brought on by the behaviour of +the children, who had been naughty with a naughtiness +that could scarcely have been surpassed in +hell, and was partly undressed when her eyes +suddenly became centred on the wall-paper, which +had a curious dark pattern running through +it.</p> + +<p>She looked at the pattern, and it suddenly took +the form of a tree. Now some people are in the +habit of seeing faces where others see nothing. +The governess belonged to the latter category. +She was absolutely practical and matter-of-fact, +a typical Midland farmer’s daughter, and had no +imagination whatever. Consequently, when she +saw the tree, she at once regarded it in the light +of some peculiar phenomenon, and stared at it in +open-mouthed astonishment. At first it was simply +a tree, a tree with a well-defined trunk and branches. +Soon, however, the trunk became a vivid yellow<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span> +and black, a most unpleasant, virulent yellow, and +the branches seemed to move. Much alarmed, she +shrank away from it and clutched hold of the bed. +She afterwards declared that the tree suddenly +became something quite different, something she +never dare even think of, and which nothing in +God’s world would ever make her mention. She +made one supreme effort to reach the bell, just +touched it with the tips of her fingers, and then +sank on the bed in a dead swoon.</p> + +<p>She told her story next morning to Mrs. Fitzsimmons, +and although asked on no account to +breathe a word of it to the children, she told them +too. That night she took her departure, and Mrs. +Fitzsimmons refused her a character.</p> + +<p>Curious noises were now frequently heard in the +house. Door handles turned and footsteps tiptoed +cautiously about the hall and passages at +about two o’clock in the morning.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Fitzsimmons was the next to have a nasty +experience. Going to her room one evening, when +everyone else was at supper, she saw the bed +valance suddenly move. Thinking it was the cat, +she bent down, and was about to call “Puss,” when +a huge striped thing, shaped, so she thought, something +like the trunk of a much gnarled tree, shot +out and, rolling swiftly past her, vanished in the +wainscoting. She called out, and Fitzsimmons, +who came running up, found her leaning against +the doorway of their room, laughing hysterically.</p> + +<p>Two days later, on his return from another +fishing expedition, he found that his wife had gone,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span> +leaving a note for him pinned to the dressing-table.</p> + +<hr class="l3" /> + +<p>“You won’t see me again,” she wrote. “I’m +off with Dicky Merryweather. We have discovered +we love one another, and that life apart would be +simply unendurable. Take care of the children, +and try and make them forget me. Get them away +from here, if you possibly can. I attribute everything—my +changed feelings towards you, and +Bobbie and Jane’s naughtiness—to the presence of +that beastly thing.”</p> + +<p class="dots">.<span class="dot">.</span><span class="dot">.</span><span class="dot">.</span><span class="dot">.</span><span class="dot">.</span><span class="dot">.</span></p> + +<p>Of course it was a terrible blow to Fitzsimmons, +and he told me that if it had not been for the children +he would have committed suicide there and then. +He was devotedly attached to his wife, and the +thought that she no longer cared for him made him +yearn to die.</p> + +<p>However, Bobbie and Jane were dependent on +him, and for their sakes he determined to go on +living.</p> + +<p>A week passed—to Fitzsimmons the saddest +and dreariest of his life—and he once again came +tramping home in the twilight.</p> + +<p>Not troubling now whether he saw the ghost or +not, for there was no one to care whether he was +good or bad, or what became of him, he slouched +through the coombe with his long stride more +marked and apparent than usual. On nearing +the house and noticing that there was no bright +light, such as he had been accustomed to, in any<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span> +of the front windows, but only the feeble flare of the +oil lamp over the front door, a terrible feeling of +loneliness came over him. He let himself in. +The hall was in semi-darkness, and he could hear no +sounds from the kitchen. He could see a glimmer of +light, however, issuing from under the kitchen door, +and he promptly steered for it. The cook, Agatha, +was sitting in front of the fire, reading a sixpenny +novel.</p> + +<p>“Why is the house in darkness?” Fitzsimmons +asked angrily. “Surely it is dinner-time.”</p> + +<p>The cook yawned, and looking up at Fitzsimmons, +said: “It’s not my place to light up. It’s +Rosalie’s.”</p> + +<p>“Where is Rosalie?” Fitzsimmons demanded.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know,” the cook replied. “I can’t be +expected to know everything. The cooking’s +enough for me—at least for the wages I get. +Rosalie’s been gone somewhere for the last two +hours. I haven’t seen or heard anything of her +since tea.”</p> + +<p>“And the children?” Fitzsimmons inquired.</p> + +<p>“Oh, the children’s all right,” the cook answered—“at +least I suppose so; and, you bet, they’d have +let me know fast enough if they hadn’t been. I +don’t know which of the two hollers loudest.”</p> + +<p>“Well, get my supper, for mercy’s sake, for I’m +famishing,” Fitzsimmons said; and he stalked back +again into the darkness.</p> + +<p>After groping about the hall for some time and +knocking over a good few things, he at length put +his hands on a match-box, and lighting a candle<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span> +made straight for the nursery. The children +had got into bed partially undressed, and were +sound asleep, with their heads well buried under the +bedclothes. Fitzsimmons contrived to uncover their +faces without waking them, and kissing them both +lightly on the forehead, he left them and went downstairs +to his study. Here he drew up a chair close to +the fire and, throwing himself into it, prepared to wait +till the gong sounded for supper. A slight noise +in the room made him look round. Across the +window recess, from which the sound apparently +came, a pair of heavy red curtains were tightly +drawn. Fitzsimmons rather wondered at this, +because Rosalie did not usually draw the curtains +before she lighted up; so he was still looking at them +and wondering, when they were suddenly shaken so +violently that the metal rings made a loud rattling +and jarring on the brass pole to which they were +attached. Fitzsimmons watched in breathless +anticipation. Every second he expected to see the +curtains part and some ghoulish face peering out +at him. Drawn curtains so often suggest lurking +horrors of that description. Instead, however, +the curtains only grew more and more agitated, +shaking violently as if they had the ague. Then, +all of a sudden, they were still. Fitzsimmons rose +and was about to look behind them, when they +started trembling again, and the one nearest the +fireplace began to bulge out in the middle. Fitzsimmons +stared at it with a sickening sense of foreboding. +At first it had no definite form, but, very +gradually, it assumed a shape, the shape he felt it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span> +would, and moved nearer him. For some seconds +he was too overcome with horror to do anything, +but his recollections of what it had looked like in +the coombe that night, and his utter detestation +of it, increased his fear, and in a frenzy of rage he +snatched up a revolver from the mantelpiece and fired +at it. Fitzsimmons thinks it was the bullet that +made it suddenly collapse; but I am inclined to +think it was the sound of the report—as sound +undoubtedly does, at times, bring about dematerialisation. +There are, I think, certain sounds that +generate vibrations in the air favourable to the +manifestation of spirits, and other sounds that +create vibratory motion destructive to the composition +of what are termed ghosts. And here was +an instance of the latter. Fitzsimmons waited for a +few minutes, until he felt sure the thing was gone +altogether, entirely quit of the premises, and then, +revolver in hand, pulled aside the curtains.</p> + +<p>The next moment he reeled back, stupefied with +horror. Lying at full length on the floor, her white +face turned towards him, with a hideous grin of +agony on her lips, was Rosalie.</p> + +<p>“Good God!” Fitzsimmons said to himself. +“Good God! I’ve killed her. What in Heaven’s +name can I do?”</p> + +<p>He deliberated shooting himself; and then the +cries of the children, who had been wakened by +the noise, reminding him of his duties to them, +he grew calmer, and telephoned at once for the +nearest doctor. The latter, happening to be at +home, was speedily on the spot.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span></p> + +<p>“You say you shot her,” he remarked to Fitzsimmons, +after he had examined the body very +carefully. “You must be dreaming, sir. There’s +not the slightest sign of any bullet. Moreover, the +girl’s been dead at least two hours. From the +look of her, I should say she died from strychnine +poisoning.”</p> + +<p>The doctor was right. The girl’s death was due +to strychnine, and from the bottle that was found +in her possession and a message she scribbled on +the study wall, there is no doubt whatever she +committed suicide. “I was a nice enough girl +till I came here,” she wrote, “but it’s the coombe +that’s done it. Mother warned me against it. +Coombes make everyone bad.”</p> + +<p>After this, Fitzsimmons decided to clear out. +Indeed, he could hardly have done otherwise, for +Shane Garth was now placed under a rigorous ban. +Agatha left—she did not even wait till the morning, +but cleared out the same night—and after that it +was impossible to get a woman to come in, even for +the day. Consequently, Fitzsimmons had not only +to cook and look after the children, but to do all +the packing as well. At last, however, it was all +over, and the carriage stood at the door, waiting +to take him and the children to the station. As +he came downstairs, followed by Bobbie and Jane, +someone, he fancied, called his name. He turned, +and Bobbie and Jane turned too.</p> + +<p>Bending over the balustrades of the top landing, +and looking just like she had done in her lifetime, +save perhaps for the excessive pallor of her cheeks,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span> +and a curious expression of fear and entreaty in +her eyes, was Rosalie.</p> + +<p>She faded away as they stared, and close beside +the spot where she had stood, they saw the dim +and shadowy outline of a gnarled tree.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span></p> + + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a><span class="g">CHAPTER VIII</span><br /> +<br /> +THE TRUNK<br /> +<br /> +<span class="f8">A STRANGE CASE OF HAUNTING IN SYDENHAM</span></h2> + + +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> other day I went to a matinée at “The +St. James’s.” I am fond of French Revolutionary +plays, and <cite>The Aristocrat</cite> appealed to me, not only +by reason of its picturesqueness, which is happily +unimpaired by any slavish adherence to historical +accuracy, but also, and mostly, perhaps, by reason +of its pretty and unimpeachable sentiment. The +abandoned woman—a type so many of our +modern dramatists consider cannot be dispensed +with—apparently did not figure in this play at +all.</p> + +<p>On this particular afternoon one of the principals +happened to be away, but as the part was played +to perfection by my young and charming compatriot, +Miss Nina Oldfield, instead of being disappointed, +I only experienced an additional pleasure. +I was leaning back in my seat during the interval, +thinking of Danton, Desmoulins, Marat, and other +of the romantic figures of that period, when someone +touched me on the shoulder and whispered, +“Ghost man.”</p> + +<p>Not recognising the voice, I turned round sharply.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span> +It was John Boulton, late dramatic critic of the +<cite>Arctus</cite>, now a staff captain, home on leave from +Egypt.</p> + +<p>“I’ve just heard of a case that will interest you,” +he said. “It bears out two of your theories, +namely, that all animals and insects have spirits, +and that spirits of all kinds, when freed from the +material body, can assume dimensions far exceeding—in +height especially—the dimensions of the +material body that they once inhabited. But +come on to my Club as soon as this show is over, +and I’ll tell you all about it.”</p> + +<p>I accepted Boulton’s invitation, and subsequently +listened to the following:</p> + +<p>“Some friends of friends of mine, the Parminters, +recently took a small house in Sydenham. Now +Sydenham is not in the hey-day of its popularity. +Scores of the bigger houses are to let, and the +smaller ones—the majority at least—have not even +that air of genteel respectability which characterises +houses of the same size in some of the less remote +suburbs. Of course the train service is responsible +for much—even to think of a twenty-five minutes’ +journey into Town by train, when one can go +any distance on tube in next to no time, is both +intolerable and demoralising. But the decay of +the Palace—the Palace that twenty years ago all +London flocked to see—is in itself sufficient to have +generated that all-pervading atmosphere of sadness +that seems to have permeated people and houses, +alike, with its spirit of abandonment and desolation. +However, as a set-off against the many disadvantages<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span> +of Sydenham, including its high rates and dull, +unattractive shops, there is its wonderful air—the +purest, so many doctors say, in England. And, +after all, what is of more consequence than pure +air which means health? At least, so the Parminters +argued when they gave up the idea of living right +in Town and bought this little two-storeyed villa +close to the Crystal Palace Station.</p> + +<p>“It had stood empty for years and was in a sad +state of dilapidation; but the owner, being on the +verge of bankruptcy, had no money to lay out +on it.</p> + +<p>“‘I will let you have it for a very low figure,’ he +had said to them, ‘provided you take it as it stands.’</p> + +<p>“The sum named was £120, and this the Parminters +considered, in spite of there being a pretty +stiff ground rent, a bargain price. Consequently, +they closed with the offer, had the house renovated, +and eventually moved in. On the day after their +arrival Mrs. Parminter made a discovery. Stowed +away in the loft was a long, weather-worn, bolster-shaped, +brown wooden trunk, bearing on it two +steamship company’s labels, one marked Suez and +the other London.</p> + +<p>“There was no address on it—no name. The +Parminters made inquiries of the builder who had +done the repairs and of the late owner of the house, +and neither could give them any clue as to the +person to whom it belonged. The landlord declared +that he had gone through all the rooms, including +the loft, immediately before giving up the keys to +Mrs. Parminter, and that he could swear that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span> +when he did so there was nothing in the house at all, +no trunk of any description; whilst the builder +declared that both he and his men, when doing +the repairs, had seen the trunk in the loft and +had concluded that it belonged to the Parminters.</p> + +<p>“‘Well, as nobody seems to want it, we had +better keep it,’ Mrs. Parminter remarked. ‘I +wonder what it contains! It would be a pity to +force the lock, we must get a key to fit it.’</p> + +<p>“As no one happened to be going out just then, +the trunk was pushed on one side, and the Parminters, +having many other things to occupy their +minds, did not give it another thought. Tired out +with all the worry and work of ‘moving in,’ they +went to bed early that night, in the room immediately +beneath the loft, and fell asleep almost as +soon as they had lain down. Parminter had the +digestion of an ox and, never over-taxing his brain, +slept, as a rule, right through the night. On this +occasion, however, he awoke with a violent start +to hear a strange, scraping sound on the floor +overhead.</p> + +<p>“It was just as if someone was drawing the +rough edge of a stone backwards and forwards on the +floor.</p> + +<p>“This went on for some seconds; then it abruptly +ceased, and the stairs, leading from the landing +outside the Parminters’ room to the loft, gave a +series of loud creaks. Of course stairs often creak, +and one excuses their conduct on the ground of +natural causes. The wood, we say, cannot expand<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span> +or contract, when certain changes in the temperature +take place, without making some little noise, +and vibration due to the passing by of some heavy +vehicle must be accompanied by some slight sound. +But why, I ask, do we not hear creaks in the daytime, +when the traffic is more constant and changes +in the temperature quite as marked? Parminter +was not an imaginative man; on the contrary, he +was practical to a degree. He had a hearty contempt +for anything in the nature of superstition, +and regarded all so-called psychists either as +charlatans or lunatics. Yet, when he listened to +this creaking, he was bound to admit that there was +something about it that bothered and perplexed +him. He got up and opened the door. There was +no moon, but, on the staircase, there was a long +streak of leadish blue light, that moved as Parminter +stared at it, and slowly began to descend. The +stairs creaked under it and, though he could see +nothing beyond the light, he could hear the most +peculiar rattling, scraping sound, as if some metal-clad +body was in course of transit. The thing, +whatever it was, at last arrived on the landing, +where it remained stationary. A feeling of unutterable +horror and repulsion now came over +Parminter, and, springing back into the room, he +shut and locked the door. The noise awoke his +wife, and they both stood by the door and listened, +as the creaking and rattling was renewed and the +thing crossed the landing and descended the stairs +into the hall. Presently there came a savage snarl, +which ended in a shrill whine, that was almost<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span> +human in the intensity of its agony and terror, +and after that, silence.</p> + +<p>“‘Puck!’ Mrs. Parminter ejaculated, her +teeth chattering. ‘What can have happened to +him?’</p> + +<p>“‘God knows,’ Parminter replied. ‘I’m not going +to see.’</p> + +<p>“They stood there shivering in their night clothes, +until, from the absolute stillness of the house, they +concluded that the thing had gone; then they +lighted candles and, slipping into their dressing-gowns, +descended the stairs. Puck was crouching +on the mat by the drawing-room door, in an attitude +he often assumed when well scolded. They called +him by his name. He did not answer. Then +they bent over him and patted his head. Still +he did not stir, and when they came to examine +him more closely they discovered he was +dead.</p> + +<p>“Determined to get to the bottom of the mystery, +Parminter, the following night, sprinkled the stairs +all over with flour and sand. The same thing +happened. First of all the scraping immediately +overhead, then the creaking and rattling on the +stairs, then the pause, and then the slow and +stealthy descent, accompanied by the same combination +of noises, into the hall. When all was +still again, they examined the flour and sand. There +were no imprints on it of any kind, and apparently +it had not been touched, for it bore no sign whatever +of anything having passed over it.</p> + +<p>“Still Parminter would not acknowledge the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span> +possibility of the superphysical. ‘The noises +we’ve heard,’ he remarked, ‘are simply the result +of some curious acoustic property, not uncommon, +perhaps, if we only knew it, in houses of this description. +And what I saw on the stairs is, of course, +merely the effect of some trick of the light which +anyone who understands natural science could +easily explain.’</p> + +<p>“‘Well, all I can say is that I should like to +have the whole thing explained, and to know +what these natural causes that you’re so fond of +talking about really are,’ rejoined Mrs. Parminter.</p> + +<p>“‘So should I,’ Parminter replied. ‘But I +can’t explain it, because I’m not a scientist.’</p> + +<p>“‘Well, get one,’ was the reply. ‘Get Professor +Keipler.’</p> + +<p>“Professor Keipler was the only scientist the Parminters +knew. He was a German, and at that time +happened to be living in Penge. At Parminter’s +request he came over to Sydenham and accepted +an invitation to stay the night. Parminter showed +him the loft, and the Professor made a very careful +examination of it, pulling up one or two boards +and peering into all the cracks and crevices. He +tested the walls and stairs too, and admitted that +he could discern nothing there that could account +for some, at least, of the noises the Parminters +described. When bedtime came, instead of retiring +to rest, Parminter lowered all the lights, +and they all three sat on the landing and +waited.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Precisely at the same time as on the previous +night they heard the scraping sound in the loft, +then the gentle opening of a door, then a rattling +of metal; and then—Parminter caught the Professor +by the arm—a long, luminous something +came into view. Instead, however, of descending +the stairs, it mounted the wall and suddenly +shot down towards them like a streak of +lightning.</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Parminter screamed, Parminter tightened +his hold of the Professor, and the next thing they +knew was that they were all three rolling on the +floor with something huge and scaly crawling over +them. It conveyed the impression that it was +some gigantic, venomous, and indescribably hideous +insect, furnished with many long and dreadful +legs, and they shrank from its touch just as they +would have shrunk from the touch of an enormous +spider, black-beetle, or other creature to which they +had a special aversion. The Professor had brought +with him a very powerful electric torch. In the +first panic it had slipped from his grasp and rolled +away into the darkness, but his fingers eventually +coming into contact with it, he pressed the button. +In an instant the landing was flooded with light, +and the thing of horror had gone. Parminter then +lit the incandescent gas, and they all three went +downstairs into the dining-room and had brandies +and soda.</p> + +<p>“‘Well, how do you account for it?’ Parminter +said to the Professor. ‘What do you think it +was?’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span></p> + +<p>“‘Nothing that I can explain by any known +physical law,’ the Professor replied. ‘I never +believed in the possibility of the superphysical +before, but I am convinced of it now. What struck +me most about that thing, even more than its +extraordinary property of completely vanishing +under the influence of light, was its malignancy. +Didn’t you feel how intensely antagonistic it was +to us?’</p> + +<p>“‘Yes,’ Parminter said. ‘I did.’</p> + +<p>“‘Well,’ the Professor went on, ‘such antagonism, +such concentrated spleen and venom and +bloodthirstiness—I felt the thing wanted to crush, +tear, mangle, lacerate, poison me—could only +originate in Hell—in a world altogether distinct +from ours, where cruelty and maliciousness attain +dimensions entirely beyond the scope of the physical. +My advice to you is to quit the house with all haste, +lest something really evil befall you.’</p> + +<p>“Having only just moved in, and spent a lot of +money on the place, the Parminters naturally did +not feel inclined to carry out this advice.</p> + +<p>“‘If the place is haunted,’ they argued, ‘we can +surely get rid of the ghost by exorcism or some +other device.’</p> + +<p>“They consulted several of their friends, and +were finally persuaded to call in a priest—an +Anglican, from a parish in the East End, that +Mrs. Parminter used to visit when they lived in +town.</p> + +<p>“The Parminters did not tell me exactly what +Father S—— did (I believe there is a special form<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span> +of exorcism practised in the Church), but anyhow +he could not proceed; his nerves, so he himself +admitted, went all to bits, and directly the long +streak of light began to crawl towards him he +turned tail and fled.</p> + +<p>“Another clerical friend whom the Parminters +called in to exorcise the ghost did, I believe, complete +the service; but it had no effect—the thing +mounted the wall, just as it had done before, and +darting downwards put the exorciser to instant +flight. The Parminters next resolved to try a +West End occultist. It was an expensive proceeding; +but terms were at length agreed upon, +and the following night the renowned psychic +arrived to lay the ghost. When it was time for it +to appear, this exorciser insisted upon the Parminters +retiring to their room, whilst he himself +remained outside on the landing alone.</p> + +<p>“They heard him repeat a lot of gibberish, as +Parminter afterwards described it to me; and +then he rapped at their door and told them they +need not worry any more as he had seen the ghost, +the spirit of a monk, and given it the consolation +it needed.</p> + +<p>“‘But why did the monk crawl and make +such a queer rattling noise?’ Mrs. Parminter +inquired.</p> + +<p>“‘Because just before he died he lost the use +of his limbs,’ was the reply. ‘Spirits, you know, +always come back in the state they were in immediately +prior to their death. The rattling was due +to the fact that he wore armour; so many of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span> +old monks combined two professions, that of soldier +and priest.’</p> + +<p>“‘But how about the speed with which the +thing darted at us,’ Parminter said, ‘and the feeling +we all had that it possessed innumerable legs? +That doesn’t look much like a disabled monk, +does it?’</p> + +<p>“‘He didn’t appear like that to me,’ the occultist +replied. ‘In all probability you had that impression +because your psychic faculties are not sufficiently +developed. At present you see spirits all +out of focus, as it were—not in their true perspective. +If you went through a proper course of +training at some psychic college, you would see +them just as I do.’</p> + +<p>“‘Possibly,’ Parminter said, ‘but how about the +gas? I see you had it full on all the time.’</p> + +<p>“‘That would make no difference in my case,’ +the occultist replied, ‘because to anyone of my advanced +learning ghosts can materialise in the light +just as well as in the dark.’</p> + +<p>“‘Then you feel certain the hauntings have now +ceased?’ Mrs. Parminter observed.</p> + +<p>“‘That is what the monk told me,’ was the +reply; ‘and now, if you will kindly pay me my fee, +I will go.’</p> + +<p>“Parminter gave him a cheque, and he went. +An hour later, when the Parminters were in bed and +the house was still and dark, they heard the scraping +on the floor overhead, and the thing came down. +This time neither of them stirred, and the thing, as +before, passed their room and descended into the hall.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span></p> + +<p>“The following morning Mrs. Parminter received +a letter from her sister, Mrs. Fellowes, asking her if +she could put up the two children, Flo and Maisie, +their maid, and herself for a week. It was extremely +inconvenient just then for Mrs. Parminter +to have visitors, and had it been anyone else she +would have refused; but she was devoted to this +particular sister, and at once wrote back bidding +her come.</p> + +<p>“The house was rather oddly constructed. On +the top story were three rooms, two quite a decent +size, but the third barely big enough for a bed, and +having two doors, one of which opened on to the +landing and the other into the loft. The loft was +very large, but so dark and badly ventilated that +it could not possibly be used for sleeping purposes. +Every room in the house being required, Mrs. +Fellowes’ nursemaid, Lily, was put to sleep in the +room adjoining the loft, whilst Flo and Maisie +occupied one of the two larger rooms, and the Parminters’ +cook and housemaid the other. For the +first two nights after the arrival of the visitors there +were no disturbances, although Lily complained +that she had never slept worse in her life. On the +third day of their stay the children were invited out +to tea, and their mother accompanied them. When +they returned they inquired for Lily, and being told +that she had been in her room all the afternoon, they +ran upstairs to see if anything was the matter with +her.</p> + +<p>“Maisie knocked, and receiving no reply, opened +the door and peeped in.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Lily was lying on the bed, and on the top of her, +its long antennæ waving over her face, was an +enormous scaly thing with a hideous jointed body +and hundreds of poisonous-looking black legs. Its +appearance was so terrific, so unmistakably evil +and savage, that Maisie was petrified, and stood +staring at it, unable to move or utter a +sound.</p> + +<p>“Flo, wondering what had happened, peeped +over her sister’s shoulders, and was equally shocked. +Just then someone came running upstairs, making +a great noise, and the thing slowly vanished. The +children then recovered the use of their tongue, and +shrieked for help.</p> + +<p>“Parminter, happening to enter the house at +that moment, ran to the assistance of the children, +and in a few moments the whole household was on +the top landing. Lily was unconscious, and for +days she was so ill that the doctor held out very +little hope of her recovery. In the end, however, +she pulled round, but both her throat and heart +were permanently affected. Soon after this event +the Parminters resold the house, as they felt they +could not remain in it any longer. They had stored +a good many things in the loft, and, on removing +them, they came across the trunk.</p> + +<p>“‘Why, we never opened it,’ Mrs. Parminter +cried, trying in vain to lift up the lid.</p> + +<p>“‘No; we were going to get a key, and then forgot +all about it,’ Parminter replied. ‘But we’ll soon +remedy that. I’ll send for a locksmith at +once.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span></p> + +<p>“He did so, and the man, at last finding a key +that fitted, opened the box.</p> + +<p>“It was not quite empty; on the bottom of it, +stuck firmly down with two big hatpins, its long legs +spread out on either side of it like a hideous fringe, +was a black Indian centipede.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span></p> + + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a><span class="g">CHAPTER IX</span><br /> +<br /> +THE COUGH<br /> +<br /> +<span class="f8">A CASE OF HAUNTING IN REGENCY SQUARE, +BRIGHTON</span></h2> + + +<p><span class="smcap">I know</span> a man called Harrison. So, in all probability, +do you; so, in all probability, do most +people. But it is not everyone, I imagine, that +knows a Harrison who delights in the Christian +name of Pelamon, and it is not everyone that +knows a Pelamon Harrison who indulges in psychical +research. Now some people think that no one +unless he be a member of the Psychical Research +Society can know anything of ghosts. That is a +fallacy. I have met many people who, although +they have had considerable experience in haunted +houses, have never set a foot in Hanover Square; +and, vice versa, I have met many people who, +although they have been members of the Psychical +Research Society, have assured me they have never +seen a ghost. Pelamon Harrison belongs to the +former category. He is by vocation a gentleman +undertaker, and he lives in Sussex. Some years +ago, after the publication of my novel <cite>For Satan’s +Sake</cite>, which was very severely criticised in certain +of the religious denominational papers, Pelamon<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span> +Harrison, championing my cause, wrote me rather +an interesting letter. I went to see him, and ever +since then he has not only supplied me with detailed +information of all the hauntings he has come +across, but he has at times sent me accounts of his +own experiences. This is one of them.</p> + +<p>Pelamon was seated in his office one day reading +Poe, when the telephone at his elbow started ringing.</p> + +<p>“Hullo!” said Pelamon. “Who’s there?”</p> + +<p>“Only me—Phoebe Hunt,” was the reply. +(Phoebe Hunt was Pelamon Harrison’s housekeeper.)</p> + +<p>“Anything the matter?” Pelamon asked anxiously. +“What is it?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, nothing,” Mrs. Hunt replied, “only a rather +queer-looking gentleman has just called and seemed +most anxious to see you. He says he has been told +about you by Mr. Elliot O’Donnell, and he wants +you to go at once to a house in Regency Square, +Brighton, No. —. He says it is very badly +haunted.”</p> + +<p>“What’s his name?” Pelamon demanded.</p> + +<p>“Nimkin,” Mrs. Hunt answered, and she very +carefully spelt the name—“N I M K I N.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll think it over,” Pelamon said, “and if +I’m not home by seven o’clock, don’t expect me till +the morning.” He then rang off, and thinking +it was time he did some work, he took up his account +book.</p> + +<p>Try as he would, however, he could not keep his +mind from wandering. Something kept whispering +in his ear “Nimkin,” and something kept telling him<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span> +that his presence was urgently needed in Regency +Square.</p> + +<p>At last, unable to stand it any longer, he threw +down his pen and, picking up his hat and coat, +hurried off to the railway station.</p> + +<p>At seven o’clock that evening he stood on the +pavement immediately in front of No. — Regency +Square. All the blinds were down, and this circumstance, +combined with an atmosphere of +silence and desolation, told him that the house +was no longer inhabited. Somewhat perplexed, he +asked the servant next door if she could tell him +where Mr. Nimkin lived.</p> + +<p>“Not in Heaven,” the girl replied tartly. “He +did live in No. — till his wife died, but after that he +went to live on the other side of the town. He +died himself a few days ago, and I believe his funeral +took place this afternoon.”</p> + +<p>“And No. — where his wife died is now empty,” +Pelamon observed.</p> + +<p>“Yes, it’s been empty ever since,” she replied, +and, sinking her voice to a whisper, “folks say +it’s haunted. I can’t altogether bring myself to +believe in ghosts—but I’ve heard noises,” and she +laughed uneasily.</p> + +<p>“Had he any children?” Pelamon asked.</p> + +<p>“No,” the girl answered, “and he has left the +money he hoarded—he was the meanest of old +sticks—to the hospital for consumptives.”</p> + +<p>“A worthy cause,” Pelamon commented.</p> + +<p>The girl nodded. “His wife was a consumptive,” +she went on. “I remember her well—a pretty,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span> +fair-haired creature with a lovely skin, and”—here +she shuddered—“a shocking cough.” Then, +thrusting her head close to Pelamon, and fixing him +with a frightened glance, she whispered, “It was +the cough that killed her!”</p> + +<p>Pelamon stared at her in astonishment. “Why, +of course,” he said. “It’s the cough that kills all +consumptives. I’ve buried scores of them.”</p> + +<p>The girl shook her head. “You don’t understand,” +she said, “but I daren’t tell you any more; +and, after all, it’s only what we thought. Anyhow, +he’s dead now, and a good job too. Did you want +to see him?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, it was nothing very particular,” Pelamon +replied. “Who has the keys of the house?”</p> + +<p>The girl’s jaws dropped and her eyes grew as big +as turtle’s eggs.</p> + +<p>“The keys!” she exclaimed. “Mercy on us, +you don’t intend going there?”</p> + +<p>“That’s my business,” Pelamon replied haughtily; +and then, not wishing to offend her, he added: “I +heard the place was to be let, and as I want a house +in this particular locality, I thought I would call +and look at it, that’s all! I am not a burglar!”</p> + +<p>The girl giggled. “A burglar!” she said. “Oh +no, you’re not sharp enough for that. Besides, +the house is empty.”</p> + +<p>“What!” Pelamon exclaimed. “Has all the +furniture been taken away?”</p> + +<p>“All but the blinds,” the girl nodded. “There +was a sale here the day after Mrs. Nimkin was +buried, and at it crowds of people; some of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span> +furniture fetched an enormous price. I did hear +that the house was sold too, but I’ll ask the missus +to make sure.”</p> + +<p>She ran upstairs, and returned in a few minutes.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” she said, “the house is sold, and the +new people are coming in soon.”</p> + +<p>“Then that settles the matter,” Pelamon said, +and, thanking her in his usual terse and precise +way, he withdrew.</p> + +<p>He took a brief turn on the sea front, thinking +all the time of Regency Square and the mysterious +individual who had interviewed Mrs. Hunt, and +who must be, he thought, related to the Nimkin +who had been buried that afternoon. At nine +o’clock he was once again in the square. Entering +the garden of No. —, he crept round to the back +of the house and, finding the catch of one of the +windows undone, he raised the sash and climbed in.</p> + +<p>He had an electric torch with him, and consequently +he was able to find his way about. +Pelamon is very susceptible to the influence of the +superphysical, and is probably far more of a psychic +than the majority of those who earn their living +as professional mediums. He told me afterwards +that he knew No. — was haunted the moment he +set his foot inside it. He could detect the presence +of the superphysical both in the atmosphere and +also in the shadows. Frequently in the death +chambers which he had attended he had seen +a certain type of shadow on the floor by the bed; +and it was this same queer kind of shadow, he +said, that now crept out from the wall to meet<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span> +him. But it was not the only phenomenon. +From just where the shadow lay, there came a +cough, a nervous, worrying cough, a regular hack, +hack, hack, and when Pelamon moved, the cough +and the shadow moved too. He went all over +the house, into every room; and the cough and +the shadow followed him. Hack, hack, hack, he +could not get rid of it. At first it merely irritated +him; but after a while he grew angry, infuriated, +maddened.</p> + +<p>“Damn you!” he yelled. “Stop it! Stop +that vile, infernal hacking. Damn you! Curse +you! <strong class="smcap">Stop</strong> it!”</p> + +<p>But the coughing went on, and in a hideous fit +of rage, Pelamon flew at the shadow, jumped on +it, stamped on it, and drawing out his clasp knife, +knelt down and deliberately stabbed it. Still it +went on, untiringly, ceaselessly, significantly, hack, +hack, hack. Pelamon was still on the floor cutting, +stabbing, blaspheming, when a taxi suddenly drew +up outside the house, and the next moment the +front-door bell gave a loud birr. Pelamon waited +till it had rung twice; then he answered it. A +chauffeur stood on the doorstep.</p> + +<p>“You’ve come to the wrong house,” Pelamon +said to him. “No taxi is wanted here.”</p> + +<p>“This is No. —, ain’t it?” the man ejaculated.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” Pelamon replied. “It is No. —, but +that doesn’t simplify matters. Who sent for you?”</p> + +<p>“A gentleman as lives on t’other side of the +town,” the chauffeur replied. “He called out to +me as I was passing his house. ‘Do you want a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span> +job?’ he says. ‘Will you drive to No. — Regency +Square and fetch a lady and gentleman? You’ll +find them there waiting for you. The gent’s +name is Harrison’ (Pellijohn Harrison, I think +he said, but I couldn’t quite catch it). ‘Never +mind the lady’s. Bring ’em both here.’”</p> + +<p>“That’s very extraordinary,” Pelamon exclaimed, +“for that’s my name, without a doubt. But I +don’t know who the gentleman could have been, +and there’s no lady here.”</p> + +<p>“Maybe there ain’t no lady in the house now,” +the chauffeur said dryly, “because she’s just got +in the taxi. But she was there a second or two ago. +You do like your bit of fun, don’t yer?”</p> + +<p>Pelamon, in a great state of bewilderment, was +about to say something, when from the direction +of the taxi came the cough, hack, hack, hack. He +knew it too well.</p> + +<p>“There you are,” the chauffeur said, with a leer. +“You must admit she’s in there right enough, +and waiting till you’re ready to join her.”</p> + +<p>Possessed with the feeling that he must see the +thing through, Pelamon hesitated no longer. He +got into the taxi. The coughing went on, but he +could see no lady.</p> + +<p>They drove right through the town, and at last +stopped outside a small villa facing a church or +chapel. Concluding this must be their destination, +Pelamon got out and, bidding the chauffeur wait, +rang the front-door bell. There was no response. +He looked at the windows; there was not a vestige +of light anywhere and the blinds were all tightly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span> +drawn. He rang again, and rapped as well, and +was about to do so a third time, when a window +in the next house was raised and a voice called +out: “There’s no one there. There’s been a funeral +to-day and the house is empty.”</p> + +<p>“Whose funeral was it?” Pelamon asked +eagerly.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Nimkin’s,” was the reply; “he died last +Tuesday.”</p> + +<p>“Why, what are you a-talking about?” the +chauffeur called out, descending from his perch and +joining Pelamon on the doorstep. “Nimkin! +Why, that was the name of the bloke as was here +less than an hour ago and told me to fetch this +gentleman. No one in the house indeed, why, +he’s in it, and the lady that came along with this +gentleman here, she’s in it too. Listen to her +coughing,” and, as he spoke, from the other side of +the closed door came the familiar sounds, hack, +hack, hack.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span></p> + + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a><span class="g">CHAPTER X</span><br /> +<br /> +THE SYDERSTONE HAUNTINGS</h2> + + +<p><span class="smcap">Some</span> years ago I published in a work entitled +<cite>Ghostly Phenomena</cite> (Werner Laurie & Co.) an +account, sent me by the late Rev. Henry Hacon, +M.A., of Searly Vicarage, North Kelsey Moor, of +hauntings that once occurred in the Old Syderstone +Parsonage (the present Rectory has never, so I +understand, been in any way disturbed). Thanks +to the kindness and courtesy of Mr. E. A. Spurgin +of Temple Balsall, Warwickshire (grandson of the +Rev. John Spurgin), I am now able to reproduce +further correspondence relative to the same case, +written at the time of the occurrence—over eighty +years ago.</p> + +<p>The following paragraphs appeared in the <cite>Norfolk +Chronicle</cite>, June 1, 1833:—</p> + + +<p class="hd">“A Real Ghost</p> + +<p>“The following circumstance has been creating +some agitation in the neighbourhood of Fakenham +for the last few weeks.</p> + +<p>“In Syderstone Parsonage lives the Rev. Mr. +Stewart, curate, and rector of Thwaite. About +six weeks since an unaccountable knocking was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span> +heard in it in the middle of the night. The family +became alarmed, not being able to discover the +cause. Since then it has gradually been becoming +more violent, until it has now arrived at such a +frightful pitch that one of the servants has left +through absolute terror. The noises commence +almost every morning about two, and continue +until daylight. Sometimes it is a knocking, now +in the ceiling overhead, now in the wall, and now +directly under the feet; sometimes it is a low +moaning, which the Rev. Gentleman says reminds +him very much of the moans of a soldier on being +whipped; and sometimes it is like the sounding of +brass, the rattling of iron, or the clashing of earthenware +or glass; but nothing in the house is disturbed. +It never speaks, but will beat to a lively tune and +moan at a solemn one, especially at the morning +and evening hymns. Every part of the house has +been carefully examined, to see that no one could +be secreted, and the doors and windows are always +fastened with the greatest caution. Both the inside +and outside of the house have been carefully examined +during the time of the noises, which always +arouse the family from their slumbers, and oblige +them to get up; but nothing has been discovered. +It is heard by everyone present, and several ladies +and gentlemen in the neighbourhood, who, to +satisfy themselves, have remained all night with +Mr. Stewart’s family, have heard the same noise, +and have been equally surprised and frightened. +Mr. Stewart has also offered any of the tradespeople +in the village an opportunity of remaining in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span> +house and convincing themselves. The shrieking +last Wednesday week was terrific. It was formerly +reported in the village that the house was haunted +by a Rev. Gentleman, whose name was Mantal, +who died there about twenty-seven years since, +and this is now generally believed to be the case. +His vault, in the inside of the church, has lately +been repaired, and a new stone put down. The +house is adjoining the churchyard, which has +added, in no inconsiderable degree, to the horror +which pervades the villagers. The delusion must +be very ingeniously conducted, but at this time of +day scarcely anyone can be found to believe these +noises proceed from any other than natural causes.</p> + +<p>“On Wednesday se’nnight, Mr. Stewart requested +several most respectable gentlemen to sit up all +night—namely, the Rev. Mr. Spurgeon of Docking, +the Rev. Mr. Goggs of Creake, the Rev. Mr. Lloyd +of Massingham, the Rev. Mr. Titlow of Norwich, +and Mr. Banks, surgeon, of Holt, and also Mrs. +Spurgeon. Especial care was taken that no tricks +should be played by the servants; but, as if to give +the visitors a grand treat, the noises were even +louder and of longer continuance than usual. The +first commencement was in the bed-chamber of +Miss Stewart, and seemed like the clawing of a +voracious animal after its prey. Mrs. Spurgeon +was at the moment leaning against the bed-post, +and the effect on all present was like a shock of +electricity. The bed was on all sides clear from +the wall; but nothing was visible. Three powerful +knocks were then given to the side-board, whilst<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span> +the hand of Mr. Goggs was upon it. The disturber +was conjured to speak, but answered only by a low +hollow moaning; but on being requested to give +three knocks, it gave three most tremendous blows +apparently in the wall. The noises, some of which +were as loud as those of a hammer on the anvil, +lasted from between eleven and twelve o’clock until +near two hours after sunrise. The following is the +account given by one of the gentlemen: ‘We all +heard distinct sounds of various kinds—from +various parts of the room and the air—in the midst +of us—nay, we felt the vibrations of parts of the bed +as struck; but we were quite unable to assign any +possible natural cause as producing all or any part +of this. We had a variety of thoughts and explanations +passing in our minds <em>before</em> we were on the +spot, but we left it all equally bewildered.’ On +another night the family collected in a room where +the noise had never been heard; the maid-servants +sat sewing round a table, under the especial notice +of Mrs. Stewart, and the man-servant, with his +legs crossed and his hands upon his knees, under +the cognisance of his master. The noise was then +for the first time heard there—‘above, around, +beneath, confusion all’—but nothing seen, nothing +disturbed, nothing felt except a vibratory agitation +of the air, or a tremulous movement of the tables +or what was upon them. It would be in vain to +attempt to particularise all the various noises, +knockings, and melancholy groanings of this mysterious +something. Few nights pass away without +its visitation, and each one brings its own<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span> +variety. We have little doubt that we shall ultimately +learn that this midnight disturber is but +another ‘<cite>Tommy Tadpole</cite>,’ but from the respectability +and superior intelligence of the parties who have +attempted to investigate into the secret, we are +quite willing to allow to the believers in the earthly +visitations of ghosts all the support which this +circumstance will afford to their creed—that of +<em>unaccountable mystery</em>. We understand that inquiries +on the subject have been very numerous, +and we believe we may even say troublesome, if +not expensive.”</p> + +<p class="src"> +(<cite>Norfolk Chronicle</cite>, June 1, 1833.)<br /> +</p> + +<hr class="l4" /> + +<p class="hd">“Syderstone Parsonage</p> + +<p class="sal1">“<i>To the Editor of the Norfolk Chronicle.</i></p> + +<p>“<span class="smcap">Sir</span>,—My name having lately appeared in the +<cite>Bury Post</cite>, as well as in your own journal, without +my consent or knowledge, I doubt not you will +allow me the opportunity of occupying some portion +of your paper, in way of explanation.</p> + +<p>“It is most true that, at the request of the Rev. +Mr. Stewart, I was at the Parsonage at Syderstone, +on the night of the 15th ult., for the purpose of +investigating the cause of the several interruptions +to which Mr. Stewart and his family have been +subject for the last three or four months. I feel<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span> +it right, therefore, to correct some of the erroneous +impressions which the paragraph in question is +calculated to make upon the public mind, and at +the same time to state fairly the leading circumstances +which transpired that night.</p> + +<p>“At ten minutes before two in the morning, +‘<em>knocks</em>’ were distinctly heard; they continued at +intervals, until after sunrise—sometimes proceeding +from the bed’s-head, sometimes from the side-boards +of the children’s bed, sometimes from a three-inch +partition, separating the children’s sleeping-rooms; +both sides of which partition were open to observation. +On two or three occasions, also, when a +definite number of blows was requested to be +given, the precise number required was distinctly +heard. <em>How</em> these blows were occasioned was the +subject of diligent search: every object was before +us, but nothing satisfactorily to account for them; +no trace of any human hand, or of mechanical +power, was to be discovered. Still, I would remark, +though perfectly distinct, these knocks were by no +means so powerful as your paragraph represents—indeed, +instead of ‘<em>being even louder, and of longer +continuance that night</em>, as if to give <em>the visitors a +grand treat</em>,’ it would seem they were neither <em>so</em> +loud nor <em>so</em> frequent as they commonly had been. +In several instances they were particularly gentle, +and the pauses between them afforded all who were +present the opportunity of exercising the most calm +judgment and deliberate investigation.</p> + +<p>“I would next notice the ‘<em>vibrations</em>’ on the side-board +and post of the children’s beds. These were<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span> +distinctly felt by myself as well as others, not +only once, but frequently. They were obviously +the effect of different blows, given in some way or +other, upon the different parts of the beds, in +several instances while those parts were actually +under our hands. It is not true that ‘<em>the effect +on all present was like a shock of electricity</em>,’ but +that these ‘<em>vibrations</em>’ did take place, and that +too in beds, perfectly disjointed from every wall, +was obvious to our senses; though in what way +they were occasioned could not be developed.</p> + +<p>“Again—our attention was directed at different +times during the night to certain sounds on the +bed’s-head and walls, resembling the scratchings +of two or three fingers; but in <em>no</em> instance were +they ‘<em>the clawing of a voracious animal after its +prey</em>.’ During the night I happened to leave the +spot in which the party were assembled, and to +wander in the dark to some more distant rooms in +the house, occupied by no one member of the family +(but where the disturbances originally arose), and +there, to my astonishment, the same scratchings +were to be heard.</p> + +<p>“At another time, also, when one of Mr. Stewart’s +children was requested to hum a lively air, ‘<em>most +scientific beatings</em>’ to every note was distinctly +heard from the bed-head; and at its close, ‘<em>four +blows</em>’ were given, louder (I think) and more rapid +than any which had before occurred.</p> + +<p>“Neither ought I to omit that, at the commencement +of the noises, several feeble ‘<em>moans</em>’ were +heard. This happened more than once; after a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span> +time they increased to a series of ‘<em>groanings</em>’ +of a peculiarly distressing character, and proceeding +(as it seemed) from the bed of one of Mr. Stewart’s +children, about ten years of age. From the tone +of voice, as well as other circumstances, my own +conviction is, that these ‘<em>moans</em>’ could not arise +from any effort on the part of the child. Perhaps +there were others present who might have had +different impressions; but be this as it may, +towards daybreak four or six shrieks were heard—not +from any bed or wall, but as hovering in the +atmosphere in the room, where the other noises had +been principally heard. These screams were distinctly +heard by <em>all</em>, but their cause was discoverable +by <em>none</em>.</p> + +<p>“These, Sir, are the chief events which occurred at +Syderstone Parsonage on the night alluded to in your +paragraph. I understand the ‘<em>knockings</em>’ and +‘<em>sounds</em>’ have varied considerably in their character +on different nights, and that there have been +several nights occurring (at four distinct periods) +in which <em>no noises</em> have been heard.</p> + +<p>“I have simply related what took place under my +own observation. You will perceive that the noises +heard by us were by no means so loud and violent +as would be gathered from the representations +which have been made. Still, as you are aware, +they are not on that account the less real; nor do +they, on that account, require the less rational +explanation. I trust, however, Mr. Editor, your +readers will fully understand me. I have not +related the occurrences of the night for the purpose<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span> +of leading them to any particular views, or conclusions +upon a subject which, for the present at +least, is wrapt in obscurity: such is very remote from +my object. But Mr. Stewart having requested me, +as a neighbouring clergyman, to witness the inconveniences +and interruptions to which the different +members of his family have been subject for the +last sixteen weeks, I have felt it my duty, as an +honest man (particularly among the false statements +now abroad) to bear my feeble testimony, however +inconsiderable it may be, to their actual existence +in his house; and also since, from the very nature of +the case, it is not possible Mr. Stewart can admit +the repeated introduction of strangers to his family, +I have thought it likewise a duty I owed to the +public to place before them the circumstances which +really did take place on that occasion. In the +words of your paragraph, I can truly say: ‘<em>I had a +variety of thoughts and explanations passing in my +mind before I was on the spot, but I left it perfectly +bewildered</em>,’ and I must confess the perplexity +has not been diminished by the result of an investigation, +which was most carefully pursued for +five days, during the past week, under the immediate +direction of Mr. Reeve, of Houghton, agent to the +Marquis of Cholmondeley, the proprietor of Syderstone +and patron of the Rectory, and who, on +learning the annoyances to which Mr. Stewart was +subject, directed every practicable aid to be afforded +for the purpose of discovery. Mr. Seppings and +Mr. Savory, the two chief inhabitants of the parish, +assisted also in the investigation. A ‘<em>trench</em>’ was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span> +dug round the back part of the house, and +‘<em>borings</em>’ were resorted to in all other parts of it +to the depth of six or seven feet, completing a +chain round the entire buildings, for the purpose of +discovering any subterranean communication with +the walls, which might possibly explain the noises +in question. Many parts of the interior of the +house, also, such as ‘<em>the walls</em>,’ ‘<em>floors</em>,’ ‘<em>false +roofs</em>,’ etc., have been minutely examined, but +nothing has been found to throw any light upon the +source of the disturbances. Indeed, I understand +the ‘<em>knockings</em>’ within the last four days, so far +from having subsided, are become increasingly +distressing to Mr. Stewart and his family—and so +<em>remain</em>!—I am, Sir, your obedient servant,</p> + +<p class="right">“<span class="smcap">John Spurgin</span>.</p> + +<p class="dat1">“<span class="smcap">Docking</span>, <i>June 5, 1833</i>.”<br /></p> + +<hr class="l4" /> + +<p class="sal2">“<i>To the Editor of the Norfolk Chronicle</i>.</p> + +<p class="dat2">“<span class="smcap">Norwich</span>, <i>June 5, 1833</i>.</p> + +<p>“<span class="smcap">Sir</span>,—The detail of circumstances connected +with the <cite>Syderstone Ghost</cite>, as reported in the public +papers, is in my opinion very incorrect, and calculated +to deceive the public. If the report of +noises heard on other evenings be as much exaggerated +as in the report of the noises which five +other gentlemen and myself heard on Wednesday<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span> +evening, the 15th of May, nothing could be better +contrived to foster superstition and to aid deception. +I was spending a few days with a friend in +the neighbourhood of Syderstone, and was courteously +invited by Mr. Stewart to sit up at the +Parsonage; but I never imagined the noises I heard +during the night would become a subject of general +conversation in our city and county. As such is +the case, and as I have been so frequently appealed +to by personal friends, I hope you will afford the +convenience of correcting, through the medium of +your journal, some of the errors committed in the +reports made of the disturbances which occurred +when I was present. If the other visitors thought +proper to make their statements known to the +public, I have no doubt they would nearly accord +with my own, as we are not, though so represented +in the <cite>Bury Post</cite>, ‘those who deal in contradictions +of this sort.’</p> + +<p>“The noises were <em>not loud</em>; certainly they were +not so loud as to be heard by those ladies and +gentlemen who were sitting at the time of their +commencement in a bedroom only a few yards +distant. The noises commenced as nearly as +possible at the hour we had been prepared to expect +they would—or at about half-past one o’clock a.m. +It is true that knocks seemed to be given, or actually +were given, on the side-board of a bed whilst Mr. +Goggs’ hands were upon it; but it is not true that +they were ‘powerful knocks.’ It is also true that +Mr. Goggs requested the ghost, if he could not +speak, to give three knocks, and that three knocks—<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span>gentle +knocks, not ‘three most tremendous blows’—were +heard as proceeding from the thin wall against +which were the beds of the children and the female +servants. I heard a scream as of a female, but I +was not alarmed; I cannot speak <em>positively</em> as to +the origin of the scream, but I cannot deny that +such a scream may be produced by a ventriloquist. +The family are highly respectable, and I know not +any good reason for a suspicion to be excited against +any one of the members; but as it is <em>possible</em> for +one or two members of a family to cause disturbances +to the rest, I must confess that I should be more +satisfied that there is not a connection between +the ghost and a member of the family if the noises +were distinctly heard in the rooms when <em>all</em> the +members of the family were known to be at a +distance from them. I understood from Mr. +Stewart that on one occasion the whole family—himself, +Mrs. Stewart, the children, and servants—sat +up in his bedroom during the night; that himself +and Mrs. Stewart kept an attentive watch upon +the children and servants; and that the noises, +though seldom or never heard before in that room, +were then heard in all parts of the room. This +fact, though not yet accounted for, is not a proof +but that some one or more of the family is able to +give full information of the cause of the noises.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Stewart and other gentlemen declared that +they have heard such loud and violent knocking, +and other strange noises, as certainly throw a +great mystery over the circumstance. I speak +only in reference to the knockings and the scream<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span> +which I heard when in company with the gentlemen +whose names have been already made known to +the public; and confining my remarks to those +noises, I hesitate not to declare that I think similar +noises might be caused by visible and internal +agency.</p> + +<p>“I do not deny the existence of supernatural +agency, or of its occasional manifestation; but I +firmly believe such a manifestation does not take +place without Divine permission, and when permitted +it is not for trifling purposes, nor accompanied +with <em>trifling effects</em>. Now there are effects +which appear to me <em>trifling</em>, connected with the +noises at Syderstone, and which therefore tend +to satisfy my mind that they are <em>not caused by +supernatural agency</em>. On one occasion the ghost +was desired to give ten knocks; he gave nine, +and, as if recollecting himself that the number was +not completed, he began again, and gave ten. I +heard him beat time to the air of the verse +of a song sung by Miss Stewart—if I mistake not, +‘Home, Sweet Home’; and I heard him give three +knocks in compliance with Mr. Goggs’ request.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Editor, noises are heard in Syderstone Parsonage +the cause or agency of which is at present +unknown to the public, but a full, a diligent investigation +ought <em>immediately</em> to be made—Mr. +Stewart, I believe, is willing to afford facility. If, +therefore, I may express an opinion, that if two or +three active and experienced police officers from +Norwich were permitted to be the sole occupants +in the house for a few nights, the ghost would not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span> +interrupt their slumbers, or, if he attempted to do +it, they would quickly find him out, and teach him +better manners for the future. The disturbances +at the Parsonage House, Epworth, in 1716, in some +particulars resemble those which have occurred +at Syderstone, but in these days we give little +credit to tales of witchcraft, or that evil spirits are +permitted to indicate their displeasure at prayers +being offered for the King, etc.; and therefore I +hope that deceptions practised at Syderstone, if +there be deceptions, will be promptly discovered, +lest that parsonage become equal in repute to the +one at Epworth.—I am, Sir, your humble servant,</p> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">“Samuel Titlow.”</span></p> + +<p class="src">(<cite>Norfolk Chronicle</cite>, June 8, 1833.)</p> + +<hr class="l4" /> + +<p class="hd"><span class="smcap">Syderstone Parsonage</span></p> + +<p class="sal1">“<i>To the Editor of the Norfolk Chronicle.</i></p> + +<p>“<span class="smcap">Sir</span>,—Having already borne my testimony to +the occurrences of the night of the 15th ult. in the +Parsonage at Syderstone, and finding that <em>ventriloquism +and other devices</em> are now resorted to as the +probable causes of them (and that, too, under the +sanction of certain statements put forth in your +last week’s paper), I feel myself called on to state +publicly that, although a diligent observer of the +different events which then took place, I witnessed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span> +no one circumstance which could induce <em>me</em> to +indulge a conjecture that the <em>knocks</em>, <em>vibrations</em>, +<em>scratchings</em>, <em>groanings</em> etc., which I heard, proceeded +from any member of Mr. Stewart’s family, through +the medium of mechanical or other trickery:—indeed, +it would seem to me utterly impossible that +the scratchings which fell under my observation +during the night, in a remote room of the house, +could be so produced, as, at that time, every +member of Mr. Stewart’s family was removed a +considerable distance from the spot.</p> + +<p>“While making this declaration, I beg to state +that my only object in bearing any part in this +mysterious affair has been to investigate and to +elicit the <em>truth</em>. I have ever desired to approach +it without <em>prejudging</em> it—that is, with a mind +willing to be influenced by <em>facts</em> alone,—without +any inclination to establish either the intervention of +<em>human</em> agency on the one hand, or of <em>super-human</em> +agency on the other hand:—at the same time, it is +but common honesty to state that Mr. Stewart +expresses himself so fully conscious of his own +integrity towards the public that he has resolved on +suffering all the imputations and reflections which +<em>have</em> been or which may be cast either upon himself +or upon his family to pass without remark; and +as he has, at different times and upon different +occasions, so fully satisfied his own mind on the +<em>impossibility</em> of the disturbances in question arising +from the agency of any member of his own household +(and from the incessant research he has made +on this point, he himself must be the best judge),<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span> +Mr. Stewart intends declining all future interruptions +of his family, by the interference of +strangers.</p> + +<p>“Perhaps, Mr. Editor, your distant readers may +not be aware that Mr. Stewart has not been resident +at Syderstone more than fourteen months, while +mysterious noises are <em>now</em> proved to have been +heard in this house, at different intervals and in +different degrees of violence, for the last thirty years +and upwards. Most conclusive and satisfactory +affidavits on this point are now in progress, of the +completion of which you shall have notice in due +time.—I am, Sir, your obedient servant,</p> + +<p class="right">“<span class="smcap">John Spurgin.</span></p> + +<p>“<span class="smcap">Docking</span>, <i>June 7, 1833</i>.”</p> + +<p class="src">(<cite>Norfolk Chronicle</cite>, June 15, 1833.)</p> + +<hr class="l4" /> + +<p class="r2">These Declarations were inserted in the <cite>Norfolk +Chronicle</cite>, June 22, 1833:—</p> + + +<p class="hd"><span class="smcap">“Syderstone Parsonage</span></p> + +<p>“For the information of the public, as well as for +the protection of the family now occupying the above +residence from the most ungenerous aspersions, +the subjoined documents have been prepared. +These documents, it was proposed, should appear +before the public as Affidavits, but a question +of law having arisen as to the authority of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span> +Magistrates to receive Affidavits on subjects of this +nature, the Declarations hereunder furnished have +been adopted in their stead. The witnesses whose +testimony is afforded have been all separately +examined—their statements, in every instance, +have been most cheerfully afforded—and the +solemn impression under which the evidence of +some of them particularly has been recorded, has +served to show how deeply the events in question +have been fixed in their recollection. Without +entering upon the question of Causes, one Fact, +it is presumed, must be obvious to all (namely): +That various inexplicable noises have been heard +in the above residence, at different intervals, and +in different degrees of violence, for many years +before the present occupiers ever entered upon it: +indeed, the Testimony of other respectable persons +to this Fact might have been easily adduced, but it +is not likely that any who are disposed to reject or +question the subjoined evidence would be influenced +by any additional Testimony which could be +presented:—</p> + +<hr class="l5" /> + +<p>“<i>Elizabeth Goff</i>, of Docking, in the county of +Norfolk, widow, now voluntarily declareth, and is +prepared at any time to confirm the same on oath, +and say: That she entered into the service of the +Rev. William Mantle about the month of April +1785, at which time her said master removed from +Docking to the Parsonage at Syderstone, and the +said Elizabeth Goff further states, that at the time of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span> +entering upon the said parsonage, two of the sleeping +rooms therein were nailed up: and upon one +occasion, during the six months of her continuance +in the service of her said master, she well remembers +the whole family were much alarmed in consequence +of Mrs. Mantle’s sister having either seen or heard +something very unusual, in one of the sleeping +rooms over the kitchen, which had greatly terrified +her.—This Declaration was made and signed this +18th day of June 1833, before me, Derick Hoste, +one of His Majesty’s Justices of the Peace for the +County of Norfolk.</p> + +<p>“The mark (X) of Elizabeth Goff.”</p> + +<hr class="l5" /> + +<p>“<i>Elizabeth</i>, the wife of George <i>Parsons</i>, of Syderstone, +in the county of Norfolk, blacksmith, now +voluntarily declareth, and is prepared at any time +to confirm the same on oath, and say: That she +married about nineteen years ago, and then entered +upon the occupation of the south end of the +Parsonage at Syderstone, in which house she continued +to reside for the space of nine years and a +half. That she, the said Elizabeth Parsons, having +lived at Fakenham previously to her marriage, +was ignorant of the reputed circumstances of +noises being heard in the said house, and continued +so for about nine or ten months after entering +upon it; but that, at the end of that time, upon +one occasion during the night, she remembers to +have been awoke by some ‘very violent and very<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span> +rapid knocks’ in the lower room occupied by +them, immediately under the chamber in which +she was sleeping; that the noise appeared to her +to be as against the stove which she supposed +must have been broken to pieces; That she, the +said Elizabeth Parsons, awoke her husband, who +instantly heard the same noise; that he immediately +arose, struck a light, and went downstairs; +but that, upon entering the room, he found everything +perfectly safe, as they had been left upon +their going to bed; that her husband hereupon +returned to the sleeping room, put out the light, +and went to bed; but scarcely had he settled +himself in bed, before the same heavy blows returned; +and were heard by both of them for a +considerable time.—This being the first of the +noises she, the said Elizabeth Parsons, ever heard, +she was greatly alarmed, and requested her husband +not to go to sleep while they lasted, lest she should +die from fear; but as to the causes of these noises, +she, the said Elizabeth Parsons, cannot, in anywise, +account. And the said Elizabeth Parsons +further states, that about a year afterwards at +midnight, during one of her confinements, her +attention was particularly called to some strange +noises heard from the lower room. These noises +were very violent, and, as much as she remembers, +were like the opening and tossing up and down +of the sashes, the bursting of the shutters, and +the crashing of the chairs placed at the windows: +that her nurse hereupon went downstairs to +examine the state of the room, but, to the surprise<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span> +of all, found everything perfectly in order, as she +had left it.—And likewise the said Elizabeth +Parsons further states, that besides the occurrences +hereinbefore particularly stated and which remain +quite fresh in her recollection, she was, from time +to time, during her residence in Syderstone Parsonage, +constantly interrupted by very frightful and +unusual knockings, various and irregular;—sometimes +they were heard in one part of the house, +and sometimes in another;—sometimes they were +frequent, and sometimes two or three weeks or +months or even twelve months would pass, without +any knock being heard. That these knocks were +usually never given till the family were all at rest +at night, and she has frequently remarked, just at +the time she hoped she had got rid of them, they +returned to the house, with increased violence.—And +finally the said Elizabeth Parsons declares, +that during a residence in the Syderstone Parsonage +of upwards of nine years, knocks and noises were +heard by her therein, for which she was utterly +unable to assign any cause.—This Declaration was +made and signed this 18th day of June 1833, +before me, Derick Hoste, one of His Majesty’s +Justices of the Peace for the County of Norfolk.</p> + +<p class="right2">“<span class="smcap">Elizabeth Parsons.</span>”</p> + +<hr class="l5" /> + +<p>“<i>Thomas Mase</i>, of Syderstone, in the county of +Norfolk, carpenter, now voluntarily declareth, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span> +is prepared at any time to confirm the same on +oath, and say: That one night, about eleven years +ago, while Mr. George Parsons occupied part of +the Parsonage at Syderstone, he happened to be +sleeping in the attic there; and about midnight +he heard (he thinks he was awoke out of sleep) a +dreadful noise, like the sudden and heavy fall of +part of the chimney upon the stove in the lower +sitting-room.—That the crash was so great that, +although at a considerable distance from the +spot, he distinctly heard the noise, not doubting +the chimney had fallen and dashed the stove to +pieces:—that he arose and went downstairs (it +being a light summer’s night): but upon examining +the state of the room and stove, he found, to his +astonishment, everything as it ought to have been. +And the said Thomas Mase further states, that, +upon another occasion, about eight or nine years +ago, while sleeping a night in Syderstone Parsonage +in a room at the south end thereof, the door of +which room moved particularly hard upon the +floor, requiring to be lifted up in order to close or +open it, and producing a particular sound in its +movement, he distinctly heard all the sounds which +accompanied its opening.—That he felt certain +the door was opened, and arose from his bed to +shut it, but, to his great surprise, he found the +door closed, just as he had left it.—And finally the +said Thomas Mase states, that the circumstances +above related, arose from causes which he is totally +at a loss to explain.—This Declaration was made +and signed this 18th day of June 1833, before me,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span> +Derick Hoste, one of His Majesty’s Justices of the +Peace for the County of Norfolk.</p> + +<p class="right2">“<span class="smcap">Thomas Mase.</span>”</p> + +<hr class="l5" /> + +<p>“<i>William Ofield</i>, of Syderstone, in the county +of Norfolk, gardener and groom, now voluntarily +declareth, and is prepared at any time to confirm +the same on oath, and say: That he lived in the +service of the Rev. Thomas Skrimshire, about nine +years ago, at which time his said master entered +upon the occupation of the Parsonage at Syderstone, +and that he continued with him during his +residence in that place. The said William Ofield +also states, that, as he did not sleep in the house, +he knows but little of what took place therein +during the night, but that he perfectly remembers, +on one occasion, while sitting in the kitchen, he +heard in the bedroom immediately over his head, +a noise resembling the dragging of furniture about +the room, accompanied with the fall as of some very +heavy substance upon the floor.—That he is certain +this noise did take place, and verily believes no one +member of the family was in the room at the time.—The +said William Ofield likewise states, that the +noise was loud enough to alarm part of the family +then sitting in the lower room, in the opposite extremity +of the house; that he is quite sure they +were alarmed, inasmuch as one of the ladies immediately +hastened to the kitchen to make inquiry<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span> +about the noise, though his said master’s family +never seemed desirous of making much of these +occurrences:—that he, the said Wm. Ofield, was +ordered to go upstairs to see what had happened, +and upon entering the room he found everything +right:—he has no hesitation in declaring that this +noise was not occasioned by any person in the +house. The said Wm. Ofield likewise states, that, +at different times during the evenings, while he was +in his said master’s service, he has heard other +strange noises about the house, which he could +never account for, particularly the rattling of glass +and china in the chiffonier standing in the drawing-room, +as if a cat were running in the midst of them, +while he well believes no cat could be there, as the +door was locked. And the said Wm. Ofield likewise +states, that he has been requested by some of +the female servants of the family, who had been +frightened, to search the false roof of the house, and +to quiet their alarms, he has done so, but could +never discover anything out of order.—This Declaration +was made and signed this 18th day of June +1833, before me, Derick Hoste, one of His Majesty’s +Justices of the Peace for the County of Norfolk.</p> + +<p class="right2">“<span class="smcap">William Ofield</span>.”</p> + +<hr class="l5" /> + +<p>“<i>Elizabeth</i>, the wife of John <i>Hooks</i>, of Syderstone, +in the county of Norfolk, labourer, now +voluntarily declareth, and is prepared at any time<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span> +to confirm the same on oath, and say: That she +entered the service of the Rev. Thomas Skrimshire, +at Syderstone Parsonage, about seven years ago, +and continued with him about four years; that in +the last year of her service with Mr. Skrimshire, +about Christmas-time, while sitting by the kitchen +fireside, she heard a noise resembling the moving +and rattling of the chairs about the sleeping rooms +immediately over her;—that the noise was so great +that one of Mr. Skrimshire’s daughters came out of +the drawing-room (which was removed a considerable +distance from the spot in which the noise was +heard) to make inquiry about it: that the manservant +and part of the family immediately went +upstairs, but found nothing displaced;—and moreover +that she verily believes no member of the +family was upstairs at the time.—The said Elizabeth +Hooks also states, that, upon another occasion, +after the above event, as she was going up the attic +stairs to bed, with her fellow-servant, about eleven +o’clock at night, she heard three very loud and distinct +knocks, as coming from the door of the false +roof. These knocks were also heard by the ladies +of the family, then separating for the night, who +tried to persuade her it was someone knocking at +the hall door. The said Elizabeth Hooks says, +that although convinced it was from no person +out doors, yet she opened the casement to look +and, as she expected, found no one;—indeed (being +closest to the spot on which the blows were struck) +she is sure they were on the door, but how and by +whom given she is quite at a loss to conjecture.—And<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span> +finally the said Elizabeth Hooks states, that +at another time, after she had got into her sleeping-room +(the whole family besides being in bed, and +she herself sitting up working at her needle) she +heard noises in the passage leading to the room, +like a person walking with a peculiar hop: that she +was alarmed, and verily believes it was not occasioned +by any member of the family.—This Declaration +was made and signed this 18th day of +June 1833, before me, Derick Hoste, one of His +Majesty’s Justices of the Peace for the County of +Norfolk.</p> + +<p>“The mark (X) of Eliz. Hooks.”</p> + +<hr class="l5" /> + +<p>“<i>Phoebe Steward</i>, of Syderstone, in the county +of Norfolk, widow, now voluntarily declareth, and +is prepared at any time to confirm the same on +oath, and say: That about twenty years ago, a +few days after Michaelmas, she was left in charge +of Syderstone Parsonage, then occupied by Mr. +Henry Crafer; and about eight o’clock in the +evening, while sitting in the kitchen, after securing +all the doors, and no other person being in the +house, she heard great noises in the sleeping rooms +over her head, as of persons ‘running out of one +room into another’—‘stumping about very loud’—and +that these noises continued about ten +minutes or a quarter of an hour:—that she felt the +more alarmed, being satisfied there was, at that +time, no one but herself in the house.—And the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span> +said Phoebe Steward further states, that on +Whitsun-Tuesday, eighteen years ago, she was +called to attend, as nurse, on Mrs. Elizabeth Parsons, +in one of her confinements, then living in Syderstone +Parsonage:—That about a fortnight after that +time, one night, about twelve o’clock, having just +got her patient to bed, she remembers to have +plainly heard the footsteps, as of someone walking +from their sleeping-room door, down the stairs, +step by step, to the door of the sitting-room below:—that +she distinctly heard the sitting-room door +open, and the chair placed near one of the windows +moved; and the shutters opened. All this the +said Phoebe Steward is quite sure she distinctly +heard, and thereupon immediately, on being +desired, she came downstairs, in company with +another female, whom she had awakened to go +with her, being too much alarmed to go by herself: +but on entering the room she found everything +just as she had left it.—And the said Phoebe +Steward further states, that about a fortnight +after the last-named event, while sleeping on a +bureau bedstead in one of the lower rooms in +Syderstone Parsonage,—that is, in the room referred +to in the last statement,—she heard ‘a very surprising +and frightful knock, as if it had struck the +head of the bed and dashed it in pieces’: that +this knock was so violent as to be heard by Mrs. +Crafer in the centre of the house:—that she, the +said Phoebe Steward, and another person who +was at that time sleeping with her, were very much +alarmed with this heavy blow, and never knew<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span> +how to account for it. And finally, the said Phoebe +Steward states, that, during the forty-five years +she has been in the habit of frequenting the +Syderstone Parsonage (without referring to any +extraordinary statements she has heard from her +sister, now dead, and others who have resided in +it), that she, from her own positive experience, +has no hesitation in declaring, that in that residence +noises do exist which have never been attempted +to be explained.—This Declaration was made and +signed this 18th day of June 1833, before me, +Derick Hoste, one of His Majesty’s Justices of the +Peace for the County of Norfolk.</p> + +<p>“The mark (X) of Phoebe Steward.”</p> + +<hr class="l5" /> + +<p>“<i>Robert Hunter</i>, of Syderstone, in the county +of Norfolk, shepherd, now voluntarily declareth, +and is prepared at any time to confirm the same +on oath, and say: That for twenty-five years +he has lived in the capacity of shepherd with Mr. +Thomas Seppings, and that one night in the early +part of March 1832, between the hours of ten and +eleven o’clock, as he was passing behind the Parsonage +at Syderstone in a pathway across the glebe land near +the house, when within about twelve yards of the +back part of the buildings, his attention was +arrested all on a sudden by some very loud ‘groanings,’ +like those ‘of a dying man—solemn and +lamentable,’ coming as it seemed to him from the +centre of the house above:—that the said Robert<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span> +Hunter is satisfied these groans had but then just +begun, otherwise he must have heard them long +before he approached so near the house.—He also +further states, that he was much alarmed at these +groans, knowing particularly that the Parsonage +at that time was wholly unoccupied, it being about +a month before Mr. Stewart’s family came into +residence there:—that these groans made such an +impression upon his mind, as he shall never lose, +to his dying hour. And the said Robert Hunter +likewise states, that, after stopping for a season +near the house, and satisfying himself of the reality +of these groans, he passed on his way, and continued +to hear them as he walked, for the distance of not +less than 100 yards. The said Robert Hunter +knows 100 yards is a great way, yet if he had stopped +and listened, he, the said Robert Hunter, doubts +not he could have heard them to a still greater +distance than 100 yards: ‘so loud and so fearful +were they, that never did he hear the like before.’—This +Declaration was made and signed this 19th +day of June 1833, before me, Derick Hoste, one of +His Majesty’s Justices of the Peace for the County +of Norfolk.</p> + +<p>“The mark (X) of Robt. Hunter.”</p> + +<hr class="l5" /> + +<p>“We, the undersigned chief inhabitants of the +parish of Syderstone, in the county of Norfolk, +do hereby certify that Elizabeth Parsons, Thomas +Mase, William Ofield, Elizabeth Hooks, Phoebe<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span> +Steward, and Robert Hunter, who are now residing +in this parish, and whose Declarations are hereto +annexed, have been known to us for some years, +and are persons of veracity and good repute.</p> + +<p>“Witness our hands, this 18th day of June 1833.</p> + +<div class="sign"> +<p class="sign1">“Thomas Seppings.</p> +<p class="sign2">“John Savory.”</p> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span></p> + + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a><span class="g">CHAPTER XI</span><br /> +<br /> +THE GREEN VAPOUR</h2> + + + +<p><span class="smcap">Near</span> Bournemouth there is a house called the +Caspar Beeches that never lets for any length +of time. It has a very remarkable history, which, +in the words of Mr. Mark Wildbridge, I now append. +(Mr. Mark Wildbridge, by the way, was a clever +amateur detective who died about the middle of +last century, and many of his experiences, including +the following, were narrated to me by one of his +descendants.)</p> + +<p>I had been attending to some newly planted +shrubs in my garden, and was crossing the lawn on +my way to the back premises to wash my hands, +when the gate was swung open vigorously and a +voice called out, “Can you tell me if Mr. Mark +Wildbridge lives here?”</p> + +<p>I looked at the speaker. He was a tall young +man, slim and clean built, obviously an athlete, +a public schoolman, and very much the gentleman.</p> + +<p>I was by no means in the mood to receive +strangers, but as his type especially appeals to me, +I decided to be gracious to him. “I am Mark +Wildbridge,” I replied. “Can I be of any service +to you?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Are you Mr. Wildbridge?” the young man +said in astonishment. “Somehow I had formed +such a different picture of you. But, of course, +there is no reason why a detective should carry his +trade in his face any more than an artist or author.”</p> + +<p>“Rather less reason, perhaps,” I responded +dryly. “Have you come to consult me professionally?”</p> + +<p>The young man nodded. “Yes,” he answered. +“May I speak to you in private, somewhere where +there is no chance of our being overheard?”</p> + +<p>I conducted him to my study, and, after seeing +him seated, begged him to proceed.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Wildbridge,” he began, leaning forward +and eyeing me intently, “do you believe in family +curses?”</p> + +<p>“It depends,” I said. “I have come across cases +where there seems little doubt a family is labouring +under some malign superphysical influence. But +why do you ask?”</p> + +<p>“For this reason,” he replied, sitting up straight +and assuming an expression of great intensity. +“Two years ago I was living with my parents +at the Caspar Beeches, near Bournemouth. My +brother was coming home from India on sick +leave, and my father and I had gone up to town to +meet him, when, the day after we arrived, we got +a wire to say that my mother had died suddenly. +She had been absolutely well when we left her, so +that the shock, as you may imagine, was terrible. +Of course we hastened home at once, but the news +was only too true—she was dead, and, at the inquest<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span> +which followed in due course, a verdict of death +from asphyxiation—cause unknown—was returned. +Well, Mr. Wildbridge, exactly six months later my +father was also found dead in his bedroom, and, +as everything pointed to his having died in exactly +the same manner as my mother, my brother and I +had a detective down from Scotland Yard to +inquire into the affair. He could, however, make +nothing of it. The door of my father’s room was +found locked on the inside, the windows were all +fastened, so that no one could have gained admission; +and, besides, as nothing had been touched, +and not a single article was missing, there was no +apparent motive for a crime. At the same time, my +brother and I were far from satisfied. Although, +as the detective had pointed out to us, my father +was alone when he met his death, it seemed to us +that his end must have been brought about by +some unnatural and outside agency. The coroner’s +verdict was death from asphyxiation, the medical +evidence tending to show that he had died from +the effects of some poisonous gas. Yet whence +came the gas and how was it administered? The +sanitary authorities, whom we called in, declared, +after a very careful examination, that all the +drains were in the most excellent repair, so we +simply didn’t know what to think. My brother, +who had imbibed mysticism in India, at length +came to the conclusion that there was some curse +on us. He said that my father had on several +occasions spoken very gloomily about the parents’ +sins being visited on their children, and I, too, had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span> +noticed that my father at times was very despondent; +but I had attributed this despondency merely +to moodiness, and at the time pooh-poohed my +brother’s suggestion that there existed a mystery—something +sinister in connection with some member +of our own family. But since then I have altered +my opinion, for my brother, who inherited the property, +has also been found dead—killed by the +same diabolical agency that for some unknown +reason brought about the deaths of my mother and +father. The Caspar Beeches is now mine, Mr. +Wildbridge, and I have come to ask you what I +had better do.”</p> + +<p>“You think, of course, that you may share the +fate of your mother, father, and brother?” I asked.</p> + +<p>“I think it extremely likely,” he replied.</p> + +<p>“You are the only one left in your family?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” he said, “the only one.”</p> + +<p>“And what are your plans with regard to the +Caspar Beeches?” I inquired. “Do you think +of residing there?”</p> + +<p>“I haven’t made up my mind,” he replied; +“that is one of the points upon which I want your +advice. I want to know what you think about +these deaths. Do you think they were due to +some as yet undiscovered physical cause, as, for +instance, some unknown disease, or some gas the +sanitary authorities have not been able to trace—or, +to the superphysical?”</p> + +<p>“I can form no opinion at present,” I replied; +“I must first have more details. But from what +you have said, I think this case presents some<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span> +novel and very extraordinary features. I should +like to see the house. By the way, you haven’t +told me your name.”</p> + +<p>“Mansfield,” the young man said—“Eldred +Mansfield.”</p> + +<p>“The son of Sir Thomas Mansfield, the Bornean +explorer?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“Then you are the present baronet?”</p> + +<p>The young man nodded.</p> + +<p>“And in the event of your death,” I remarked, +“to whom do the title and estates revert?”</p> + +<p>“I believe to some distant relative,” Sir Eldred +replied. “I cannot say definitely, for I have never +inquired. I have no first cousins, and I know nothing +about any others.”</p> + +<p>“That is rather odd,” I observed, “not to +know who succeeds you. Now, tell me—of whom +does your household at the Caspar Beeches +consist?”</p> + +<p>“The butler Parry, his wife, who is housekeeper, +and four other servants.”</p> + +<p>“Have the Parrys been with you long?”</p> + +<p>“About four years.”</p> + +<p>“Do you like them?”</p> + +<p>“Not altogether,” Sir Eldred replied. “Parry is +rather fussy and officious, and his wife much too +soapy. My father, however, found them honest, and +I don’t suppose I could improve on them.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” I said, “as I have already remarked, +I can’t give you an opinion till I’ve seen the house. +Supposing you engage me as your secretary?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span></p> + +<p>“An excellent idea,” Sir Eldred cried, his face +lighting with enthusiasm. “To tell the truth, I +don’t much like the idea of sleeping there alone. +Will you go back with me to-night? I will wire +to Parry to get a room ready for you.”</p> + +<p>As my time was my own just then, I agreed, +and that afternoon saw me tearing off in a taxi to +meet Sir Eldred at Waterloo.</p> + +<p>The Caspar Beeches, a large old family mansion, +is situated nearer Winton than Bournemouth +proper, and in the midst of the most lovely forest +scenery. An air of impressive sadness hung around +it, which, although no doubt largely due to the +season and lateness of the hour, still, I thought, +owed its origin, in part, to some very different +cause; and when, on entering, I glanced round +the big, gloomy, oak-panelled hall with its dim, +far-reaching galleries, I inwardly remarked that +this might well be the home of a dozen hidden +mysteries, a dozen lurking assassins, that could +prowl about and hide there, without the remotest +fear of discovery.</p> + +<p>The door had been opened to us by a tall, thin, +bald-headed old man, with small and rather deep-set +eyes of the most pronounced blue, and a rather +cut-away chin. He expressed himself overjoyed to +see his young master back again, and was most +emphatic in his assurances that our rooms were +quite ready for us.</p> + +<p>His wife, an elderly woman with dark, keen, +penetrating eyes and slightly prominent cheekbones, +met us in the hall. I knew, of course,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span> +that she was Mrs. Parry, when she spoke, but her +voice came as a surprise. In striking contrast +to her appearance it was soft and low, and not +altogether unmusical. The other servants did not +interest me much—they were the type one sees +in all well-to-do establishments—and yet I felt that +if I were to get at the bottom of the mystery +that unquestionably shrouded the deaths of Sir +Eldred’s three relatives, I must watch everyone +very closely; for the key to a great secret is often +found where least expected.</p> + +<p>We dined at eight o’clock, and after dinner I +took a brief survey of the house. This enabled +me to form some idea of the general arrangement +of the rooms and where certain of them were +situated. My bedroom, I found, was separated +from that of Sir Eldred by the entire length of a +corridor, and at my suggestion the room adjoining +his own was allotted to me instead. Mrs. Parry +demurred a little at the change, remarking that +the room next Sir Eldred’s had not been aired; +but I told her I was not in the least degree likely +to catch cold, as I had often slept in queer places, +having spent a considerable portion of my life in +the backwoods of Canada. Sir Eldred laughed.</p> + +<p>“You don’t know what care we are taken of +here,” he said. “I can assure you, if I were to +feel even the suspicion of a draught it would be +considered a most terrible calamity.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, indeed,” Mrs. Parry said, with a sigh, +“after what has happened, Sir Eldred’s life is so +precious we feel we cannot be too careful.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Have you any idea what killed your late +master and mistress?” I asked her aside. “What +terrible times you have gone through!”</p> + +<p>“Ay, terrible indeed,” she said. “A kinder +master and mistress no one could have had. Parry +and I always thought something blew in from +outside. There is too much vegetation in the +grounds, and it grows so near the house. They do +say the place is built on the site of a morass.”</p> + +<p>“A morass, and in Hampshire!” I laughed. +“Why, that sounds incredible. The soil is surely +gravel.”</p> + +<p>“So it may be—now,” she replied. “I’m speaking +of many years ago. The house is very ancient, +sir.”</p> + +<p>I asked Sir Eldred afterwards if there was any +truth in her remark, and he said, “Yes, I believe +there was a swamp here once; at least there is +mention of one in a very old history of Hampshire +that we have in the library. It was drawn off +towards the end of the sixteenth century when +the house was built. But I’m surprised at the +Parrys knowing anything about it, for I’ve never +heard anyone allude to it—not even my father.”</p> + +<p>“Are the Parrys of the ordinary servant class?” +I asked.</p> + +<p>“I believe so,” Sir Eldred replied; “but I really +know nothing of their antecedents, for I seldom +encourage them to speak. As I told you, they both +rather get on my nerves.”</p> + +<p>That night, some hours after the household had +retired to rest, I took a rope out of my portmanteau,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span> +and, fixing one end of it securely to the bedstead, +lowered myself out of the window on to the ground +beneath. Then, keeping under cover of the pine +trees, and evading the moonbeams as much as +possible, I made a detour of the house. The night +air smelt pure and sweet. Heavily charged with +the scent of pinewood and heather, there was +absolutely nothing about it even remotely suggestive +of poisonous gas.</p> + +<p>As I was about to emerge from the trees to re-enter +the house, I heard a slight crunching sound +on the gravel. I sprang back again into the gloom, +and as I did so, two figures—a man and girl—stole +noiselessly past me.</p> + +<p>The girl I could not see distinctly, as her head +was partly enveloped in a cloak, but the face of the +man stood out very plainly in the moonlight—it +was the face of a black!</p> + +<p>What could a black man and a young girl be doing +prowling about the grounds of the Caspar Beeches +at that hour of night? Who were they?</p> + +<p>I did not say a word to anyone, but the following +night—at the same hour—I again hid amongst +the trees, and the same figures passed me. Then I +stole out of my lair and followed them.</p> + +<p>On quitting the premises they took the high road +to Bournemouth, and finally entered a house in +the Holdenhurst Road. Making a mental note of +the number of the house, I retraced my steps homeward, +and early the next morning I sent the following +telegram to Vane, who often accompanies me on my +expeditions, and to whose quick wits I owe much:</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>“Have an important case on hand. Meet me +this evening entrance to Bournemouth pier 7 p.m.”</p></div> + +<p>After dispatching this telegram I returned to +the Beeches, and asked Sir Eldred to show me the +rooms in which the three deaths had taken place. +I then examined these rooms most minutely, but +I could discover nothing in them that could in +any way help me to form a theory or even get a +suggestion.</p> + +<p>“When were the deaths first discovered?” I +asked.</p> + +<p>“Not until the morning,” Sir Eldred replied, +“when the servants, getting no reply to their +knocks, became alarmed, and eventually the doors +were forced open.”</p> + +<p>“And in each case death had taken place in +bed?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“Did you have the same doctor to all three of +your relatives after their deaths had been discovered?” +I asked Sir Eldred.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” he said. “Dr. Bowles. He has attended +us for years.”</p> + +<p>“What age is he?” I inquired.</p> + +<p>Sir Eldred thought a moment. “About sixty-four +or five,” he replied. “He attended my father +long before he was married.”</p> + +<p>“Then he would be a little old-fashioned,” I +said. “He might not, for instance, have much +knowledge of the newest poisons. New poisons, +you know, both in the form of liquid and gases, are<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span> +constantly being discovered. Many are imported +from Germany and the East. Might I see Dr. +Bowles?”</p> + +<p>“Certainly,” Sir Eldred replied; “but I fear he +cannot help you much, as all he knew he made +public at the inquests.”</p> + +<p>Sir Eldred was right practically. In my interview +with Dr. Bowles, I found that he could tell +me little beyond what I already knew. “Can you,” +I asked him, “describe the appearance of the +bodies and the effect on them of the gas which you +say, in all probability, caused the asphyxiation? +Was there anything specially remarkable in the +facial contractions or colour of the skin?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” he said, “there was an infinite horror, +such horror as I have never seen in human faces +before,” and he shuddered as he spoke. Then he +gave me a minute description of the bodies, which +I took down in my notebook and posted to a +specialist in Oriental poisons whom I knew in +London.</p> + +<p>“Was there nothing else in the three cases that +struck you as unusual?” I asked Dr. Bowles. +“No peculiarity in common?”</p> + +<p>He thought for a moment, and then said, “Nothing +beyond the fact that all three died precisely at the +same time—ten minutes past two in the morning.”</p> + +<p>“The time when human vitality is at the lowest, +and superphysical phenomena the most common. +Were the victims in a normal state of health? +Was there any family or hereditary disease?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, valvular weakness of the heart.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Which would render them more susceptible to +the influence of poison?”</p> + +<p>“Poison and shock. The inhalation of certain +poisons has a particularly deadly effect on people +suffering from cardiac defection.”</p> + +<p>“Could the poison have been self-inflicted? +Are people suffering with such a disease prone to +suicide?”</p> + +<p>“Only, as a rule, when the disease is in a very +advanced state—you then get delirium, hallucinations, +and morbid impulses.”</p> + +<p>“And none of these symptoms were noticeable +in the deceased?”</p> + +<p>“Not in a sufficiently marked degree to warrant +the suggestion of suicide.”</p> + +<p>“Have you no theory?”</p> + +<p>The doctor shook his head. “None whatever,” +he said; “and yet I’m sorry to say I can’t help +feeling there is something very sinister about it all—something +that bodes ill for Sir Eldred.”</p> + +<p>Much disappointed, I returned to the Caspar +Beeches, and was making another inspection of +the room in which one of the tragedies had occurred +when, chancing to glance at the mirror over the +mantelshelf, I caught the reflection of a pair of dark +eyes fixed inquiringly at me. I looked round, and +a figure passed along the passage. It was Mrs. +Parry. She had evidently been peeping at me +through the slightly open door, which I could have +sworn I had closed. This made me careful. If I +meant to unravel this mystery, I must on no account +be seen doing anything that might arouse suspicion<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span> +as to my real identity. Hence I determined to +confine myself more to the study in future, and the +rest of the morning I spent taking down in shorthand +letters which Sir Eldred dictated. Walls +have ears, and the sound of Sir Eldred dictating to +me, I argued, might prove convincing.</p> + +<p>A week passed and I discovered nothing. There +was nothing in the demeanour of any of the servants +to give me the slightest reason for suspecting them; +if any of them were “in the know” they kept +their secret absolutely to themselves. At night, +as soon as I deemed it safe, I slipped on a pair of +rubber shoes and crept about the house and grounds, +but with no result. On the morning of the eighth +day I received two letters—one from Vane, who had +taken furnished apartments next door to the house +I had noted in the Holdenhurst Road, and the +other from Craddock, the poison specialist.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>“I have at last found out something about those +two people,” Vane wrote. “They call themselves +Effie and George Tyson. Tyson is an assumed +name; the girl is the daughter of Parry, Sir Eldred’s +butler, and the man is Henry Mansfield, nephew of +Sir Thomas.”</p> + +<p>“Great heavens!” I could not help exclaiming. +“This is news indeed. Sir Eldred assured me that +he had no very near relatives.”</p> + +<p>“Their bedroom is only separated from mine,” +the letter went on, “by a very thin wall, and when +I had removed a brick I could catch every word +they said. There’s some mystery, and I’m going<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span> +to try and solve it for you. Watch at the Beeches. +I believe there is something extra in the wind. +Effie has been there already this morning, and she +and George are both going there again late this +evening.”</p> +</div> + +<p>The other letter, from Craddock, was as follows:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>“There’s only one gas that produces all the +effects you describe,” he said, “and that has certainly +been hitherto unknown in England; indeed, +the knowledge of it has been strictly confined to +one region—a district in the south-east of Borneo. +The natives there worship a great spirit, which they +name the Arlakoo or Hell-faced one, and they never +invoke it save when they desire the death of a +criminal, or some very aged, useless member of the +tribe. They then prepare a mixture of herbs and +berries, which they first of all dry, and, at the +psychical hour of two in the morning, put in an iron +pot and take into the presence of their intended +victim. Then, having set fire to the preparation, +which, though rather difficult to ignite, burns slowly +and surely when once aflame, they close all the +openings of the hut or room and beat a precipitate +retreat. A few minutes later the spirit they have +invoked appears, and, simultaneous with its materialisation, +the mixture burns a bright green and emits +a peculiarly offensive gas. The result is invariably +death: the shock produced by the harrowing +appearance of the apparition, coupled with the +poisonous nature of the fumes, is more than the +human mechanism can stand. Of course all this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span> +would be mere moonshine to anyone who is uninitiated +in Eastern ways and doesn’t believe in +ghosts. The Bournemouth doctors would pooh-pooh +it altogether. There is no other gas that I +know of that produces the effects you have described. +If there is another case, let me know, as +I should much like to see the victim.”</p> +</div> + +<p>A ghost! A ghost employed for the purpose +of murdering someone! Even to me, confirmed +believer in the Unknown as I am, the idea seemed +wildly improbable and fantastic. And yet, what +else could have produced that look of horror in the +faces? What else could have killed them?</p> + +<p>That evening, Sir Eldred and I sat in the smoke-room +after dinner and chatted away as usual. We +had our coffee brought to us at nine o’clock, and +at ten-thirty we retired to bed. Sir Eldred had +appeared fidgety and nervous all the evening, and, +as we were ascending the stairs, he asked me if I +would mind sitting up with him.</p> + +<p>“I feel I shan’t sleep to-night,” he said, “as +I’ve got one of my restless moods on. If it +won’t be tiring you too much, will you come and +sit with me?”</p> + +<p>I said I would with pleasure, but I did not join +him at once, as I wanted the servants to think we +had gone to our respective rooms and to bed as +usual. I also wanted whatever there might be +in the wind to mature.</p> + +<p>On entering my room, I opened the window with +as little noise as possible, and was on the verge of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span> +lowering myself into the garden when I espied +someone among the trees. I was going to draw +back, when the figure signalled, and I at once +knew it was Vane.</p> + +<p>Another minute and I had found him. “He’s +here,” he whispered, “be on the qui vive, and if +you want help call. See, I’m armed.” And he +pointed significantly to his breast pocket. He was +going to say something else when we heard steps—soft, +surreptitious steps that hardly sounded human—coming +in our direction. I immediately withdrew +to the house and hastened to Sir Eldred. At my +suggestion we both sat by the window, which I +noticed was shut—Sir Eldred, I knew, was very +susceptible to the cold—and I arranged the curtains +so that we could not be seen from the outside. +Sir Eldred occupied a sofa and I an easy chair. +For some time we talked in low voices, and then Sir +Eldred grew more and more drowsy till he finally +fell asleep.</p> + +<p>It was one of the most exquisite nights I had ever +seen—the moon, so full and silvery, and everywhere +so calm, so gentle, and so still. Not a breath of +air, not a leaf stirring, not a sound to be heard; +nothing save the occasional burr of a great black +bat as it hurled itself past the window and went +wheeling and skimming in and out the tall, slender +pines. I sat still, my eyes wandering alternately +from the window to Sir Eldred. Whence would +come the danger my instinct told me threatened +him? How calmly he slept! How marked and +handsome were his boyish features!</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span></p> + +<p>Suddenly from afar off a distant church clock +began to strike two, each chime falling with an +extraordinary distinctness on the preternatural +hush.</p> + +<p>Hardly had the last reverberating echoes ceased +before there was a loud click from somewhere near +the fireplace, and the next moment came a faint +smell of burning. Then I confess—remembering +all Craddock had told me—I was afraid. Everything +in the room—the big, open fireplace, the +dark, gleaming wardrobe, the quaintly carved +chairs, the rich but fantastically patterned curtains, +the sofa, and even Sir Eldred himself—I hardly +dared look at him—seemed impregnated with a +strange and startling uncanniness. The green light! +Was this the prelude to it? Was the terrible +Bornean phantasm getting ready to manifest itself?</p> + +<p>I struggled hard, and, at last, overcoming the +feeling of utter helplessness that had begun to steal +over me, rushed to the windows. Frantically throwing +them open, I was preparing to do the same +to the door, when a low, ominous wail, sounding +at first from very far away, and then all of a sudden +from quite close at hand, brought me to a standstill, +and the whole room suddenly became illuminated +with a glow, of a shade and intensity of green I have +never seen before. Again there came an awful +struggle. I felt eyes glaring at me, eyes that belonged +to something of infinite hideousness and hate, to +something that was concentrating its very hardest +to make—to force—me to look; and it was only +by an effort that smothered my chest and forehead<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span> +in beads of cold sweat I desisted. Groping my +way across the room, with my eyes tightly closed, +I eventually reached the sofa. Thank God! Sir +Eldred was still asleep. Tired with a day’s hard +exercise, he had fallen into the soundest of +slumbers. Putting one hand over his eyes, and +seizing him by the shoulder with the other, I +speedily roused him. “Quick, quick!” I shouted. +“For the love of God get up quick! Keep your +mouth tightly shut and follow me.” Pushing and +dragging him along, I made for the direction of the +door. The poison fumes now began to take effect; +my temples throbbed, my brain was on fire, a tight, +agonising feeling of suffocation gripped my chest +and throat, and, as I staggered with Sir Eldred +across the threshold on to the landing beyond, a +sea of blackness suddenly enveloped me, and I +knew no more.</p> + +<p class="dots">.<span class="dot">.</span><span class="dot">.</span><span class="dot">.</span><span class="dot">.</span><span class="dot">.</span><span class="dot">.</span></p> + +<p>On coming to, I found myself lying on the floor +of the corridor with Vane bending over me. “I +was just in time,” he said. “I saw you at the +window, saw you suddenly throw up your arms +and stagger away from it, and, guessing what was +happening, I ran to the house and, climbing up +the rope you had left hanging out of your window, +I managed to reach you.”</p> + +<p>“Sir Eldred?” I panted.</p> + +<p>“Oh, he’s all right,” Vane replied. “He wasn’t +really so far gone as you. A few minutes more, +though, and you would both have been dead. +Now keep cool and don’t say anything about it.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span> +As soon as the air has cleared—quite cleared mind—go +to bed, and come down in the morning as if +nothing had happened. Fortunately you made no +noise, and I feel sure no one saw me enter the house. +If you will let me take the lead in this affair, I think +we may ferret the whole thing out. But we must +go carefully. You don’t mind my playing the part +of instructor?”</p> + +<p>“No,” I laughed, “I don’t mind how despotic +you are so long as we get to the bottom of this +mystery. Fire ahead.”</p> + +<p>“Very well then,” Vane said. “Get up now and +hurry off to bed. And remember—both of you—not +a word to anyone.”</p> + +<p>Vaulting on to the window-sill as he spoke, he +caught hold of the rope and was speedily lost to +view.</p> + +<p>When we came down in the morning we were +very careful to make no allusion to the night’s +happening before the servants, but strove to appear +quite normal and unconcerned.</p> + +<p>I watched Parry’s face when he first encountered +us, but it was quite immobile. “He is either +quite innocent,” I thought, “or a very old hand.”</p> + +<p>When we were alone, Sir Eldred was very anxious +to hear what I thought. “Have you been able to +form any theory,” he asked, “because I haven’t. +I don’t see how any of the servants could have +let that infernal stuff loose in the room last night. +I can swear there was no one there but ourselves. +And for the life of me I can’t see any motive. If +any living person is responsible for it, he must be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span> +a lunatic, for no one here has anything to gain by my +death.”</p> + +<p>“You are quite sure you have no near relatives?” +I said.</p> + +<p>“Absolutely,” he replied. “To the best of my +knowledge I am the very last of the Hampshire +Mansfields.”</p> + +<p>Our conversation was abruptly ended by the +entrance of a maid with a sealed note. It was +from Vane.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>“At eleven o’clock to-night,” he wrote, “get +Sir Eldred to tell the Parrys they must sit up +with him and you in his bedroom. See that +he doesn’t let them off, as they are sure to +make excuses. Also get Craddock to come down +by an early afternoon train, and tell him to call +round and see me immediately he arrives. Leave +the rest to me.”</p></div> + +<p>This note needing no reply, I hastened off at once +to the General Post Office and telegraphed to Craddock. +Fortunately he was at home, and wired +that he would leave Waterloo by the two o’clock +train. The remainder of the day passed very +slowly. At ten o’clock that night someone whistled +from the pines, and I knew at once that it was Vane. +Craddock was with him. I conducted them both +into Sir Eldred’s room, where they were closeted +together for some time, neither Sir Eldred nor I +being allowed to enter. At last eleven o’clock +arrived, and Sir Eldred went to fetch the Parrys. +Both strongly demurred. Parry declared he was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span> +unwell, and Mrs. Parry said she had never heard +of such a thing; but Sir Eldred insisted, and they +were obliged at last to follow him upstairs. Vane +and Craddock had hidden themselves so that the +Parrys only saw me.</p> + +<p>“What do you want us to do?” Parry asked +nervously.</p> + +<p>“Merely to sit up with us and watch,” Sir Eldred +said. “Mr. Anderson” (my alias) “and I have a +presentiment that something may happen to-night +and we don’t relish the idea of facing it alone.”</p> + +<p>“I’d really rather not, sir,” Parry faltered.</p> + +<p>“That doesn’t matter,” Sir Eldred said sternly. +“It is my wish. Come, if you talk like that, I +shall begin to think you are both afraid. We will +arrange ourselves round the fireplace. I’ve an +idea that whatever comes will come down the +chimney. You sit there, Parry, next to Mr. Anderson. +Mrs. Parry shall sit by me.” And without +further to do he pushed them both into their seats. +I could see they were very much agitated, but they +both lapsed into silence, and for some considerable +time no one in the room spoke. My thoughts, as +I presumed did Sir Eldred’s, chiefly centred round +the question as to what was the great surprise +Vane had in store for us. What had he discovered? +What had he been so carefully plotting +with Craddock?</p> + +<p>On flew the minutes, and at last Sir Eldred struck +a match; for the moon was temporarily hidden +by big, black, scouring clouds. “Egad!” he +said, “It’s close on two. The hour fatal to my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span> +family. If anything is going to happen to-night +it should take place almost immediately.”</p> + +<p>“If I was you, sir,” Mrs. Parry burst out, “I +wouldn’t sit up any longer. I feel sure nothing +will happen to-night, and if it does, our being here +can do no good.”</p> + +<p>“That’s the truth,” Parry echoed.</p> + +<p>“You must wait a little longer,” Sir Eldred said. +“See, it’s almost on the stroke!” As he spoke, +the moon shone out again in all her brilliant lustre, +and every object in the room became clearly visible. +Every eye was fixed on the clock.</p> + +<p>“I’m going,” Mrs. Parry cried, springing to her +feet. “I’m going, Sir Eldred, if you give me +notice to leave. I’ve had enough of this nonsense.” +She was about to add more, when there was a sudden +click, exactly similar to the click we had heard the +preceding night, the dome-shaped top of the clock +flew open, and the smell of something burning, +but a far sweeter and more subtle odour than that +of the night before, filled the room. In an instant +the whole place was in an uproar. Mrs. Parry +shrieked for help, and declared she was being +choked, whilst Parry, falling on his knees, clutched +hold of Sir Eldred and implored his forgiveness.</p> + +<p>“Now I’m about to die, sir,” he whined, “I’ll +confess all. It’s that cousin of yours, George, who +you never heard tell of. He’s married to my +daughter Effie, and he wanted to come into your +property. He put us up to it; we only acted at +his bidding.”</p> + +<p>“That’s a lie,” a voice called out, and from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span> +behind the window-curtain stepped Vane, closely +followed by Craddock. “You see, you can’t help +lying, Parry, even when death stares you in +the face. Open the window a little wider, Mr. +Craddock, so that all this smoke, which is quite +harmless, by the way, can get out, and I’ll +explain everything. The two people who have +been in the habit of prowling about your premises +at night, Sir Eldred, are Effie, the daughter of +these miscreants here, and George Mansfield, the +son of your Uncle Richard, whom Parry, truthful +for once in his life, said you had never heard of. +Your father never mentioned his nephew to you +because he was a half-caste, Richard Mansfield, to +your father’s undying disgust, having married a +native of Borneo. George was brought up in +Borneo, and only came to England for the first time +three years ago, shortly after his father’s death. +He had heard all about the family quarrel, and, +arriving in this country with none too friendly +feelings towards your parents, sought an interview +with Sir Thomas, who, if George’s version of it is +correct, was very curt, forbidding him ever again +to enter the house. Filled with intense hatred +against you all, George Mansfield went to London, +and about that time met Effie Parry, who was then +on ‘the halls,’ acting under the name of Grahame. +In due course of time he married her, and it was she +who first suggested to him the idea of contriving +by some means or other to come into the family +estate. It is easy enough to gather what lay at +the back of her brain when she used the euphemism<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span> +‘some means or other.’ Life in the south-eastern +states of Borneo, from which George Mansfield hails, +is held of small account; he at once tumbled to the +suggestion, and decided to summon to his assistance +a spirit they worship out there called Arlakoo. +In order to invoke the Arlakoo it was essential +that certain herbs should be procured, and this +necessitated time and expense. Eventually, however, +through the agency of friends—Borneans—they +were obtained. Then came the question of +introducing them into the right quarters. Effie’s +parents both inherit criminal tendencies: Parry’s +Uncle James was a notorious forger, and Mrs. +Parry’s grandmother was hanged for baby-farming. +You needn’t look so indignant, you two, for I’ve +been to the C.I.D.—you know what the C.I.D. is—for +my information. Well, the Parrys were taken +into confidence, and Sir Thomas, being in need of +both a butler and housekeeper just then, the two +applied for the posts and got them. The rest was +comparatively easy. George is an engineer by +profession and has a good inventive faculty. Coming +to this house when the family were all away, he +espied the clock you see on the mantelshelf, in the +room your mother and father slept in, and, on +examining the dome, discovered that it opened, +and that there was a Cupid inside it which, when +in proper working order, bounced out whenever +the hour struck. It appears to have been in your +family a good many years, Sir Eldred, for George +Mansfield had previously come across a reference +to it in one of his father’s diaries, and his fertile<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span> +brain now conceived the idea of using it in the +process of carrying his scheme into effect. In the +place of the Cupid he resolved to insert a miniature +brazier containing the herbs and supplied with an +electric fuse, the mechanism of which could be so +contrived that whenever the clock should strike two, +and two only, the dome would fly open, the brazier +spring up, and the herbal preparation be ignited. +He was only too well aware of the hereditary +tendency of the Mansfield family to heart disease, +and calculated that the shock of seeing so awful an +apparition as the Arlakoo (which he firmly believed +he could call up), together with the poisonous +fumes that accompanied it—provided the door and +windows were shut, which could be accomplished +with the assistance of the Parrys—would encompass +the deaths he desired. He chose, for his first +victim, your mother. The day you and your +father went to London to meet your brother, Parry +smuggled George Mansfield into the house, and the +latter, seizing an opportunity when your mother +was out, fitted up the clock with the brazier containing +the herbal preparation and the fuse. As +you know, his diabolical scheme succeeded only too +well, not only your mother, but your father and +brother falling victims to it. This morning Mrs. +Parry paid a visit to her son-in-law, and I overheard +their conversation. Great surprise was expressed +at the failure of the clock yesterday, and it was +decided to try it again to-night. This is the result. +The vapour you saw come out of the clock just now +was a quite harmless gas which Mr. Craddock<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span> +substituted for the original preparation George +Mansfield had put there. We caught George nicely +in the garden shortly after nine. We threatened +to treat him in a thoroughly Bornean fashion”—and +Vane produced his revolver—“and he then +confessed everything. He is now in the safe +custody of the C.I.D. men.”</p> + +<p>“How did you come to suspect the clock, Vane?” +I asked.</p> + +<p>“You forget the hole in the wall,” he said, laughing. +“I overheard continual allusion to the clock, and +‘filling and charging’ it again, and as I knew it +was not customary to fill and charge clocks, I at +once smelt a rat. My suspicions were confirmed +when I came to your rescue last night and saw +tiny spirals of the green vapour still emanating +from the dome-shaped top. I consulted with Mr. +Craddock, and with his assistance I was able to +carry out this little plot which, I think, we will +all agree has succeeded almost beyond expectation. +Any more questions?”</p> + +<p>“Not for the present, Mr. Vane,” Sir Eldred +said. “I must, first of all, express my deep sense +of gratitude to you for the clever way in which you +have managed to frustrate the plot to take my life. +You have captured one villain; it now remains to +deal with these scoundrels here. I wish to goodness +my cousin had not been involved in it. I suppose, +by the way, there is no doubt that this George +Mansfield is my cousin?”</p> + +<p>“I fear none whatever,” Vane said. “I called +at his rooms when I knew he was out, and found<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span> +documents there which fully established his identity. +I’m afraid you must prosecute him with the others.”</p> + +<p>But Sir Eldred, fortunately, was spared that +degradation; for hardly had Vane finished speaking +when one of the C.I.D. men arrived at the house +and informed us that George Mansfield was no more. +He had evaded justice by swallowing a poisonous +lozenge which he had secreted in his handkerchief.</p> + +<p>The Parrys were let go; the law does not acknowledge +the superphysical, and Sir Eldred recognised +the futility of prosecuting them. They eventually +went to Canada and were heard of no more. The +Caspar Beeches, however, had got a sinister name; +no tradespeople would venture within its grounds +after dusk, and no servants would stay there. +Sir Eldred himself lived in a constant state of fear, +and confided in me that he frequently heard strange +noises—doors opening and shutting of their own +accord, and soft, inexplicable footsteps. Eventually +the house was shut up, and, although it has since +been periodically occupied, no one ever cares to +remain in it for long.</p> + +<p>When once invoked, it seems that spirits, especially +evil ones, have an unpleasant habit of clinging +to a person or place, and, in spite of what some +people assert, can seldom, if ever, be laid.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span></p> + + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a><span class="g">CHAPTER XII</span><br /> +<br /> +THE STEPPING-STONES</h2> + + + +<p><span class="smcap">Between</span> Coalbrookdale and the Wrekin, in a +charmingly wooded valley, flows a stream crossed +by seven stepping-stones, and on one bank of the +stream are the ruins of what was once a farmhouse. +People shun the spot at night, and tell strange tales +of the uncanny things that are seen there.</p> + +<p>The following narrative may very possibly afford +an explanation of the alleged hauntings.</p> + +<p>About noon one stifling hot day in August, +rather more than thirty years ago, Robert Redblake +Casson, senior partner of the firm of Casson, Hunter +& Co., ivory merchants, of Old Queen Street, +London, walked into the Fox and Greyhound +Inn, Coalbrookdale, and ordered luncheon. While +he was eating—there was no one else in the dining-room +at the time—his eyes wandered to a large +oil-painting hanging on the wall facing him. It +represented a stream spanned by seven large +stepping-stones. In the background of the picture, +and leading to the bank of the stream, was a broad +and very white pathway, bordered on either side +by a thickly planted row of lofty pines. The +artist, Casson thought, had depicted this scene<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span> +with a more than ordinary touch of realism. The +trees were no mere paint-and-canvas duds, but +things of life—things that stood out prominently, +each with an individuality of its own. He could +almost see them move, see the rustling of their +foliage and hear the creaking of their gently swaying +bodies. Their shadows, too, were no empty, meaningless +daubs, such as one too often sees in pictures, +but counterparts, living, breathing counterparts, +that, while conveying a sense of the physical, +conveyed also a suggestion of the inexplicable. As +to the water in the stream which rippled and babbled +as it flowed, Casson could feel the speed and gauge +the shallowness of it everywhere, saving round the +centre stepping-stone, where it was green, and +seemed to possess the stillness that great depths +alone can generate. There was sunlight everywhere +on the surface of the water, and here and +there it shone and sparkled with all the brilliant +lustre of the goldfishes’ scales; but despite this +animation, a sense of utter loneliness, a feeling of +intense isolation, seemed to permeate the whole +thing, and Casson, as he gazed, felt both chilled +and depressed.</p> + +<p>He was still looking at the picture, and wondering +what there could be in it to cause such a sensation +of chilliness, when something made him glance at +the stepping-stones, and, to his utter amazement, he +saw the centre one suddenly begin to oscillate.</p> + +<p>Thinking it must be some kind of optical illusion, +Casson rubbed his eyes and looked again, but the +stone was still shaking, and he fancied he could<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span> +discern the shadowy and indistinct outline of something +or someone standing on it, swaying violently +to and fro.</p> + +<p>The phenomenon lasted some seconds, and then +very abruptly ceased.</p> + +<p>Casson got up from the table and walked right +up to the picture. He examined it closely, and, +oddly enough, although he was standing on the +floor a foot or so away from the canvas, he yet felt +he was absorbed by it, and part and parcel of the +surroundings it depicted. The stone was quite +motionless now, but despite this fact, the fact that +it now lay firmly embedded in its cup-like basin, +Casson was acutely conscious that it had moved. +Moreover, its present stillness was of the most +impressive nature; it was, as it were, the stillness +that only comes after great emotion. Casson +looked for the name of the artist, and at last, in +one corner of the canvas, painted in sepia to tone +with the general colouring, he found the signature. +It was “Ralph L. Wotherall.”</p> + +<p>“Good heavens!” he ejaculated; “this must be +my old friend. There cannot be two Ralph L. +Wotheralls. Besides, I remember he used to be +fond of painting, and, judging from this specimen, +he must have taken to it professionally. How I +should like to meet him again!”</p> + +<p>His memory ran back a clear score of years. +He and Wotherall had been the staunchest of +friends; they had shared a study in Dempster’s +House at Harley. Wotherall was quite the best +boy in the school in drawing; indeed, it was about<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span> +the only subject he was good in; and he had often +remarked to Casson that whatever his father, who +was a big timber merchant, might desire to the +contrary, he meant to go to the Slade School in +London and be an artist. He decorated the walls +of the study with sketches and caricatures of the +boys and masters—Casson even now laughed as +he thought of some of them—and during his last +term at the old place he had executed an oil-painting. +If Casson remembered correctly, it depicted a river +(Wotherall had always evinced a very strong +fascination for water scenery), and was hung in a +very conspicuous place over the mantelpiece.</p> + +<p>Wotherall had not been popular at Harley. He +was no good at games, and did not take the trouble +to conceal his dislike of them. Besides, he had no +respect for conventions; he did not have a fag, and +inveighed hotly against those who did; he thought +nothing of the “caps” and other big-wigs, and was +invariably in trouble, either with a master, a House +Sixth, or somebody of an equally recognised importance. +Still, for all that, he had been a most +excellent chum, and he, Casson, had repeatedly +felt a longing to see him again, if only to chat about +the many escapades they had had together. What +had become of him, he wondered? Strange that +that stone in the picture should have attracted his +attention—should have led him to look for the +name of the artist, and to discover in it his old +friend! Of course the rocking of the stone was a +hallucination. Probably his sight had played him +a trick or his brain had suddenly become giddy.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span> +How could a stone in a picture—a thing of mere +paint and canvas—suddenly start rocking? The +thing was too fantastic for words, and he walked +back to his seat, laughing. Ringing the bell, he +asked to see the landlord, and when the latter +appeared, he inquired of him how he had come by +the picture, and if he knew the artist.</p> + +<p>“I bought that picture, sir,” the landlord replied, +“of a woman of the name of Griffiths. I happened +to be passing her house—Stepping-Stone Farm, +they call it—one day, when she was having a sale +of some of her live stock, together with a few odds +and ends in the way of surplus furniture, books, +pictures, etc. I am very fond of a good landscape, +sir, particularly with a bit of water in it, and +there was something about this one that specially +appealed to me. That, sir, is the stream that +flows outside the old woman’s house, and it was +painted, so she informed me, by an artist who +used to lodge with her, but had to leave in the end +because he was stony-broke, and hadn’t the wherewithal +to go on paying the rent. A not uncommon +happening with artists, sir, so I have always been +given to understand. From what I gathered he +owed the old woman pounds, and the few things +he left behind him—knick-knacks and a couple of +pictures—I bought the lot—was all the compensation +she could ever get out of him.”</p> + +<p>“You don’t know where he went, I suppose?” +Casson said.</p> + +<p>“No,” the landlord replied, shaking his head. +“Mrs. Griffiths did not volunteer that information,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span> +and, as I was not particularly interested in the +fellow, I didn’t ask her. She doesn’t live very +far from here, however, and if you would like to +see her, sir, you could hire a trap and drive over, +or even walk—though, maybe, you’d find walking +a bit too tiring this weather.”</p> + +<p>Casson thanked the landlord, and, feeling particularly +fit and well, decided to set off at once +on foot to Stepping-Stone Farm. He had little +difficulty in finding the way, thanks to the prodigality +of the local authorities in their distribution +of signposts, and the sun had hardly begun to set, +when a sudden swerve of the road showed him +an avenue of trees that he instantly identified as +that depicted in Wotherall’s picture. Everywhere +he encountered the same atmosphere of intense +loneliness and isolation, not untinged with a +melancholy, that had the most depressing effect, +and filled his mind with a hundred and one dismal +reflections.</p> + +<p>Advancing over the white soil he soon heard the +rushing of water, and saw, straight ahead of him +and apparently barring his progress, a broad stream, +that seemed unusually full of water for the time +of year. As he drew near he perceived the stream +was spanned by seven stepping-stones, and, drawing +nearer still, he saw that, just as in Wotherall’s +picture, the water on either side the middle and +largest of the stones formed two big pools, one +of which was singularly green and suggestive of +very great depth.</p> + +<p>On the opposite side of the stream, almost on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span> +its very bank, a farmyard encircled a long, low +building, the walls of which were barely visible +beneath a profusion of pink and white roses, clematis +and honeysuckle. Casson thought he had never +seen anything quite so enchanting, and, being a +man who invariably acted upon impulse, decided +to ask Mrs. Griffiths, whose house it undoubtedly +was, to put him up for the night. To do that, +however, he would of course have to cross the +stream. Now Casson had often crossed deep +rivers in Norway by stepping-stones, and in crossing +these rivers he had twice seen a man slip and, +with one agonising shriek of despair, plunge headlong +into the seething foam, his body, bruised and +battered and hardly recognisable, being found +many days later, calmly floating in some obscure +nook maybe a mile or so away; and compared +with these Scandinavian rivers the stream that +now faced him was but a brooklet. All the same, +he had never experienced such an intense fear +and feeling of insecurity as now, when, stepping +lightly over the first three stones, he landed on the +centre one and gazed into the green, silent depths +of the largest and deepest of the two pools that lay +on either side of it. There was something curiously +unnatural about this pool; he had never seen such +a pronounced green in fresh water before, and its +depth was in such marked contrast to the shallow, +babbling water all around it. As he peered into +it, a dark shadow seemed to well up to its +surface, but he could trace no likeness in it to +himself, and the trees were too far off for it to be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span> +produced by any one of them. He was asking +himself how it could have come there, when his +eyes wandered to the stone on which he was +standing.</p> + +<p>What an odd shape it was, nearly round and +slightly convex, like the back of a turtle or some +other queer amphibious creature, and it moved; he +was positive of that, but it did not move with the +rocking, vibrating movement he had witnessed in +the picture; it moved with a furtive, sidelong, +crawling action, as if it were alive. The sensation +was unendurable. He turned to go, and, as he +leaped through the air to the fourth stone, something +whose attitude towards him he could not exactly +define seemed to rise out of the green pool with +astonishing celerity and leap with him. Arriving +on the seventh and last stone, he was conscious of a +strong restraining influence, an enigmatical something +that seemed to be trying to pull him back, and +it was only by exerting every atom of his will power +that he succeeded in forcing himself forward. +However, the moment his feet touched the bank +and he was quite clear of the water, he was himself +again. He turned and looked at the stone. It +was absolutely motionless, while a stray sunbeam, +gilding the surface of the silent pool, made it appear +quite ridiculously cheerful. Vexed with himself for +being such a fool, Casson now crossed the farmyard +and, going up to the house, knocked at the +door. It was opened by a middle-aged woman, +who might once have been the village belle, but +who was now thin and worn.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Yes,” she said, running her eyes carefully over +Casson’s face and clothes. “What is it?”</p> + +<p>“Are you Mrs. Griffiths?” Casson ejaculated. +“I am a friend of Mr. Wotherall. I understand he +once boarded with you.”</p> + +<p>“That’s right,” the woman replied. “He lived +with me more than six months, and left two years +ago last May. He didn’t owe you anything, did +he?”</p> + +<p>“Oh no,” Casson replied quickly; “far from it. +He and I were old schoolfellows. I saw a picture +of his at the place I lunched at to-day, and, hearing +he had been in the neighbourhood, I thought I +would like to find out his present whereabouts.”</p> + +<p>“If you’ve come to inquire of me, I’m afraid +you’ll be disappointed,” Mrs. Griffiths responded, +“for I’ve neither seen him nor heard from him since +he went away, and he would not leave any address +for letters to be forwarded, as he said he had written +to all his friends to tell them not to write here +any more. A good many bills, but nothing else, +came for him after he left, and those I have returned +to the Dead Letter Office. He was very +hard up, poor gentleman, and it’s my opinion he +didn’t want his creditors to know what had become +of him.”</p> + +<p>“I suppose he must have lost money then,” +Casson murmured, “for I always understood that +his people were very comfortably fixed, and that he +was an only child. Poor old Wotherall, I should +so like to have met him again! Do you still let +rooms?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Yes, sir,” Mrs. Griffiths replied; “a top bedroom +and parlour. The same two as Mr. Wotherall +had. The last people that occupied them, a commercial +traveller and his wife from Leeds, only left +last week. Would you like to see them?”</p> + +<p>Casson acquiesced, and, liking the look of the +rooms immensely, took them for a fortnight, which +was all that remained of his seven weeks’ holidays.</p> + +<p>“It is a charming spot,” he argued, “and I can +easily amuse myself mooching about the fields or +lying by the stream reading. Rest and quiet, +and a plain, wholesome diet, such as one always +gets at a farm, are just the very things I need.”</p> + +<p>He had a gorgeous tea that evening—strawberries, +freshly gathered from the garden, cream, +delicious butter and bread, none of that mysterious +substitute that is palmed off on one nowadays in +most of the London hotels and restaurants, but real +home-made bread, which tasted far nicer than anything +he had ever eaten in Bond Street or Piccadilly—and +he enjoyed the meal so much, in fact, that he +felt in a particularly amiable frame of mind, and +thoroughly well satisfied with the world in general.</p> + +<p>Presently he got up, intending to go out. He +crossed the stone-flagged hall, and, passing the +kitchen, the door of which was slightly open, he +perceived Mrs. Griffiths busily engaged at a pastry-board +rolling away as if for dear life. Wishing to +be sociable, he called out, and as soon as she invited +him in, opened up a conversation with her, inquiring +how many cows she kept, how much land she +rented, and had she a good crop of fruit. Whilst<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span> +she was answering these questions, expatiating to no +small degree on the trials and drawbacks of having +to run a farm without a husband to look after it +(she had, she remarked, with much emphasis and +a dangerous approach to tears, been married twice, +her first husband, “the best man as ever breathed,” +dying of consumption, and her second, a drunkard +and a bad lot in every way, deserting her and going +off to America, so she had always believed, with +some other woman); whilst, I say, she was engaged +telling him all this, he suddenly found himself gazing +at an object hanging on the wall near the grandfather +clock. It was a striped chocolate, white, +and blue scarf, with the letters H.C. in white standing +out in bold relief. He recognised the colours +at once; they were the colours of Dempster’s House +at Harley. Evidently Wotherall had left the +scarf behind as part of the personal effects that he +had had to hand over to Mrs. Griffiths, in order to +appease her indignation at his failure to produce +the rent. Poor beggar, he must indeed have been +hard pushed to part with so sacred a memento of +his early life. Casson, like every other Harleyan, +had the greatest reverence and affection for everything +associated with the old School, the mere +thought of which even now sent a thrill of genuine +emotion through him.</p> + +<p>“I see you have got a souvenir of my friend over +there,” he said, pointing to the scarf. “I suppose +he made you a present of it when he left.”</p> + +<p>“What do you mean?” Mrs. Griffiths demanded, +abruptly breaking off from her pastry-making<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span> +“A souvenir of your friend? I don’t understand.”</p> + +<p>“I mean that scarf hanging on the wall there,” +Casson cried, again indicating with his hand its +whereabouts. “It’s my old School, or rather House, +scarf. But what makes it blow about so? There +doesn’t seem to be any wind.”</p> + +<p>“House! scarf! colours!” Mrs. Griffiths ejaculated. +“I never heard tell of such things. You +must be crazy. There’s nothing on the wall saving +that almanac that was given me by the grocer over +in Coalbrookdale for a Christmas present. Have +you never seen an almanac before?”</p> + +<p>“Not made of wool and behaving like that,” +Casson remarked. Then, going a few steps nearer, +he gave vent to a loud exclamation of surprise. +There was no scarf there at all, not the vestige of +one, only a picture almanac representing an intensely +silly-looking girl holding a lawn-tennis +racket.</p> + +<p>“My liver must be very wrong and I must be +more than ordinarily bilious,” Casson said. “I +could have sworn it was a scarf.”</p> + +<p>“You’re run down; been working too hard, +Mr. Casson,” Mrs. Griffiths observed. “What you +want is a rest. Go to bed early, and don’t try your +eyes over books and letter-writing.”</p> + +<p>Casson thanked her for her advice and, turning on +his heels, left the kitchen. For one brief second he +paused to look back. Mrs. Griffiths was staring +after him, and in the depths of her large china-blue +eyes, the pupils of which seemed to have grown to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span> +an unusual size, he read an expression of curiosity +intermingled with fear.</p> + +<p>The next few hours Casson spent lying on the grassy +bank of the stream. There was something wonderfully +soothing in the constant rustling of the leaves +of the big trees in the avenue, and the eternal babble, +babble, babble of the water. At times he construed +the sounds into real sighings and whisperings, and +fancied he could hear his name called, “Casson! +Casson! Casson!” very softly and plaintively, +but occasionally with such reality that he started, +and had to reassure himself earnestly that it was +all imagination. Then the shadows on the white +soil of the avenue riveted his attention. That +they were only the shadows of the trees he had no +doubt, and yet he queried every now and then if +he had ever before seen shadows flit about and contort +themselves in quite such an incomprehensible +manner. The emptiness of the avenue, too, seemed +so emphasised. Why was it so deserted? Why +weren’t there people about—living beings among +those dark swaying trees and bushes like there were +in the London parks? He did not know if he +altogether liked the avenue now, when twilight was +coming on. His eyes had tricked him in the +kitchen; might they not trick him again out here, +and in a rather more alarming manner? He would +not look at the avenue again, not till it was broad +daylight; he would turn his attention to something +else. And then, of course, his eyes rested on the +stepping-stones. One, two, three, four, he counted. +There was that confounded queer-shaped middle<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span> +stone again, and that pool! How black and +sinister they both looked in the semi-darkness! He +would sound the pool in the morning and see if +it was really as deep as he fancied. He turned +away his eyes and tried to keep his attention concentrated +on something else, but it was never any +good, and in the end he invariably caught himself +gazing at the stones, and particularly at the middle +one. At last, tearing himself away with an effort, +he went indoors and had supper, and at ten o’clock +by his watch wended his way upstairs to bed. Just +outside his door he suddenly pulled himself up +sharply. Another step, and he felt he would have +collided with something or somebody, and yet, +when he looked there was nothing—nothing save +space. More convinced than ever now that there +was something wrong either with the place or +himself, Casson entered his room and proceeded to +get into bed. The exertions of the day had made +him tired, and he was soon asleep. He supposed he +slept for about three hours, for he awoke with a +start to hear the kitchen clock hurriedly strike two. +His heart was beating furiously, and he had the +most uncomfortable feeling that there was someone +besides himself in the room. He fought against +this feeling for some time, until, at last, unable to +endure it any longer, he got out of bed, lit the candle, +and searched the room thoroughly. The door was +locked on the inside—he remembered locking it—and +he was quite alone. “It must be nerves,” +he said, getting back into bed and blowing out +the light. “A strong tonic is what I want. I will<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span> +write to Dr. Joyce for one to-morrow. But I’ve +never been afflicted with nerves before! And in +all consciousness I live simply enough; so I don’t +know why I should suddenly develop biliousness.” +Then seized with a sudden desire to blow his nose, +and recollecting that his handkerchief was on the +chair by the bedside, he was putting out his hand +to grope for it, when he felt it quietly thrust into +his palm.</p> + +<p>After that he pulled the bedclothes tightly over +his head and kept them there till the morning. +With the sunlight all doubts and uneasiness +vanished, and Casson got out of bed fully convinced +that all his experiences of the previous night were +due to mere nervousness.</p> + +<p>“I’m a Londoner,” he argued, “and, not being +used to the quiet and loneliness of these out-of-the-way +places, I got the wind up.”</p> + +<p>Breakfast made him even more confident, and +he went out into the yard in the cheeriest mood +possible. After amusing himself watching the +poultry, pigs, and other animals, he wandered +through a wicket-gate into a field, and then through +another field down to the stream. While he was +threading his way back to the farm, through a mass +of gorse and other undergrowth, he came upon a +boy bending over a fishing-rod, busily intent on +putting something red and raw—like uncooked meat—on +a hook. “Whatever’s that horrid-looking +stuff,” Casson said. “You’ll never catch fish with +bait like that. Why don’t you use dough?”</p> + +<p>“‘Cos I know they like this best,” was the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span> +answer, and the boy looked up at Casson and +grinned.</p> + +<p>Casson was now so taken up with the boy’s +appearance that he forgot all about the bait. +He had never seen such an unpleasant, queer, +malshapen face before. The cranium was disproportionately +large; the forehead and sides of +the head immediately above and behind the ears +were enormously developed; the chin was small +and retreating; the ears, which stood very pronouncedly +out from the head, were very big and +pointed; the mouth huge; the eyes big, dark, +and very heavily lidded; the skin yellow and unhealthy. +The face was unprepossessing enough in +repose, but when the lips opened and it smiled, +the likeness to some ghoulish, froggish, and wholly +monstrous kind of animal was increased a hundredfold, +and Casson started back in dismay.</p> + +<p>“Who are you?” he demanded, “and what +right have you to fish here?”</p> + +<p>“I like that—I do,” the boy grunted. “Why, +I’ve every right. I’m Ephraim Owen Lloyd. My +mother, her you’re staying with, was Mrs. Owen +Lloyd before she married again and took the name +of Griffiths. No right to fish here! You tell +my mother that and see what she says.” And, +grinning wider than ever, he picked up the baited +hook and flung it far into the stream.</p> + +<p>Not wishing to have any further conversation +with him, and feeling thoroughly disgusted and +repelled, Casson walked on towards the stones. +“Fancy being under the same roof with a young<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span> +degenerate like that!” he said to himself. “I +wish now I hadn’t decided to stay so long.”</p> + +<p>Slashing at the grass and other herbage with +his stick—a trick Casson always resorted to when +unsettled or annoyed—he reached the stones, and +was about to turn into the yard when he received +something of a surprise. A man in flannels, with +a chocolate, white, and blue striped blazer, passed +him by and, crossing the yard, vanished round +an angle of the house. Casson did not see his face, +but the back of his head, his figure, and walk at +once recalled Wotherall. “If that’s not Ralph,” +Casson exclaimed, “I’ll eat my hat! I wonder why +he’s come back? It will give him a bit of a surprise +when he sees me.”</p> + +<p>At the front door he ran into Mrs. Griffiths, +who, with an apron full of French beans, was +making for the kitchen.</p> + +<p>“Have you seen him?” Casson inquired.</p> + +<p>“Seen who?” Mrs. Griffiths rejoined.</p> + +<p>“The man in the blazer, of course,” Casson replied. +“Mr. Wotherall, wasn’t it?”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Wotherall!” Mrs. Griffiths exclaimed, +stopping short and staring hard at Casson. “You +seem to have got Mr. Wotherall on the brain. +Mr. Wotherall is nowhere near here—leastways, if +he is, I’ve seen no signs of him.”</p> + +<p>“Why, there he is!” Casson cried excitedly, +pointing at a window, through which he saw a +figure in the familiar Harleyan House blazer +saunter slowly by. “That is Wotherall. He +hasn’t altered in the least. See, he’s looking<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span> +straight in here—at me! I’ll go and speak to +him!”</p> + +<p>He ran to the door and threw it open. To his +astonishment, there was no one there but young +Ephraim Lloyd, who met his puzzled expression +with an impudent leer.</p> + +<p>“Where’s Mr. Wotherall?” Casson cried. +“What’s become of him?”</p> + +<p>The boy’s countenance instantly underwent a +change. “Mr. Wotherall!” he stammered. “What +do you know of Mr. Wotherall?”</p> + +<p>“Know of him?” Casson retorted angrily. +“That’s my business. He was here a few seconds +ago, and now I can see no trace of him. Where +is he, I say?”</p> + +<p>By this time Mrs. Griffiths had deposited the +beans on the kitchen table and joined the two at +the door. “Take no notice of the gentleman,” +she said to Ephraim, “it’s overwork. Been a-studying +too hard. I’ve told him he must throw +aside his books and letter-writing while he is here, +and rest.”</p> + +<p>“Do you mean to tell me,” Casson said “that +neither of you saw a man in a blazer pass here just +now?”</p> + +<p>“Naw!” Ephraim drawled. “I ain’t seen no +one. There’s no man in a blazer or in any other +kind of thing anywhere about here. There’s no +man at all except yourself.”</p> + +<p>“That’s right!” Mrs. Griffiths chipped in. +“I told the gentleman so, only he won’t believe +me.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span></p> + +<p>“I must have been dreaming, then,” Casson +replied reluctantly; “but, at all events, I am awake +now, and should like my dinner, Mrs. Griffiths, as +soon as you can get it.”</p> + +<p>That ended the incident. Casson retreated to his +parlour, and the other two, after mumbling for +awhile in the hall, retired together to the kitchen. +The rest of the day passed uneventfully, and, once +again, Casson found himself, candle in hand, wending +his way upstairs to bed.</p> + +<p>Just outside his door the same thing happened +as on the previous night. He thought he saw +someone standing there, and pulled himself up +sharply to avoid a collision.</p> + +<p>Once inside his room he locked the door, and +then looked everywhere to make sure no one was +hiding. That preliminary over, he stood for a +while by the window smoking, then undressed, and +got into bed. Leaning on his elbow, he was about +to blow out the candle, which was on the chair +by his side, when there was a big puff and it was +blown out for him. No thought of investigating +this time entered Casson’s mind; he dived deep +under the bedclothes, and did not emerge till Mrs. +Griffiths, almost thumping his door down, announced +that his breakfast was on the table getting cold. +After breakfast he went for a ramble in the fields, +and as he had no desire to come in contact with +Ephraim, towards whom he had taken a most +violent dislike, he headed in a direction away from +the stream. He had not gone many yards, however, +when he heard a cat screaming as if in fearful<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span> +pain. Thinking some dog had got hold of it and +was worrying it to death, and being very fond of +cats, Casson at once made for the sounds, and in +an open space, within a few yards of the stream, +came upon a spectacle that he felt he could never +forget, even if he lived a thousand years.</p> + +<p>Tied down securely with cord to the top of a big +wooden box was a black and white cat. Ephraim +had hooked out one of its eyes, which was on the +ground near his fishing-line, and was now about +to hook out the other. The mystery of the bait +Casson had seen him using the day before was thus +explained.</p> + +<p>With something like a howl of fury Casson +rushed at Ephraim, and, seizing him by the scruff +of his neck, thrashed him until his arms ached. +Then flinging him on the ground with the remark, +“You little devil, I hope I’ve killed you,” he untied +the cat. Weak with pain and loss of blood, the +wretched animal had not the strength to move, and +Casson, lifting it tenderly up, carried it to the house. +Going straight into the kitchen, he showed it to +Mrs. Griffiths.</p> + +<p>“This is your son’s work,” he said. “I’m going +to show it to the police at once, and I only hope +he’ll get a thorough good birching.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Griffiths ceased what she was doing and +looked at Casson defiantly.</p> + +<p>“What do you want to interfere with Ephraim +for?” she remarked. “He ain’t done nothing to +you, has he?”</p> + +<p>“He’s done nothing to me, perhaps,” Casson<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span> +retorted, “but he’s done something to this cat. +You can see for yourself.”</p> + +<p>“Well, he’s only a boy,” Mrs. Griffiths responded; +“and if he has ill-treated the cat, there’s not much +harm done. I expect it’s the same cat that has +been after the chickens. The cats about here are +a perfect pest.”</p> + +<p>“That’s no excuse for hooking their eyes out,” +Casson said hotly. “I intend leaving at once. +Here’s a week’s rent,” and, taking some money +from his pocket, he deposited it on the table.</p> + +<p>At that moment there were sounds of steps on +the gravel outside, loud hullabalooings, and Ephraim +burst into the kitchen.</p> + +<p>“The gentleman’s been hitting me,” he bellowed. +“He struck me on the head and boxed my ears.”</p> + +<p>“You struck him!” Mrs. Griffiths screamed, +her cheeks white with fury. “You dared to strike +him! I’ll have the law on you, see if I don’t. +There, there, Ephraim, cease crying, and you shall +have what is left of that custard pudding you liked +so much yesterday.”</p> + +<p>This bribe apparently taking effect, Mrs. Griffiths +gave her offspring a final cuddle, and then veered +round with the intention of renewing an attack +upon Casson. Before she could open her mouth +to speak, however, there was another howling on +the part of Ephraim, and Casson, under cover of it +hurried off to his bedroom to collect his things. +As he went upstairs, both the boy and his mother +showered abuses on him, and he thought he heard +Ephraim say something to the effect that he wished<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span> +they could serve him as they had served someone +else—the name of the someone else being drowned +in a loud hush from Mrs. Griffiths, who afterwards +began to speak very excitedly in Welsh.</p> + +<p>On reaching his room Casson sought to revive +the cat. He gave it some brandy from his flask, +but the animal had been so badly mauled that all +his efforts were in vain, and in a very few minutes +it succumbed. He was thinking how he should +carry it to the police station, when he heard a +growl, and, looking round, saw a big black retriever +dog, with a bright steel collar, standing on its hind +legs, with its back towards him, gazing out of the +window. Wondering whose dog it was, and what it +was growling at, Casson went to the window, and, +looking out, saw Mrs. Griffiths and the boy, each +armed with a long pole, making off in the direction +of the stream. Once or twice they peeped round, +(whereupon Casson quickly hid himself behind the +curtain), and then, apparently satisfied that they +had not been seen, kept on following the course of +the stream till they arrived at the stepping-stones. +Crossing the first two, they stood on the third, and, +thrusting the tops of their poles under the middle +one, began to lever it up. Casson now thought it +high time to depart. He felt convinced that they +were setting some kind of trap for him, and that +the exact nature of it was only known to themselves. +Thanking his lucky stars that he had happened to +look out of the window in time to see their little +game, and determining to escape at once, avoiding +the stepping-stones at all costs, he was preparing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span> +to leave the room, when he suddenly thought of +the dog. It was nowhere to be seen, and the door +and the window were both shut. Where could it +be? He looked under the bed, in the cupboard, +everywhere; it was useless—the dog had vanished!</p> + +<p>“The sooner I am out of this house,” he muttered, +as he ran downstairs and out at the kitchen +door, “the better.” And taking care, as he crossed +the yard, to keep well out of sight of the stepping-stones, +he ran in an opposite direction, without +stopping for at least a mile.</p> + +<p>Eventually he crossed the stream by a bridge, +and found his way to a village, from whence he was +able to proceed by train to Coalbrookdale. Arriving +at the latter place, he went at once to the police, +and telling them first of all about the cat, went on +to narrate all that had happened to him at the +farm. The police were not altogether unsympathetic; +they could, however, so they said, do +nothing with regard to the cat without corroborative +evidence, and, as to the other matter, they were +afraid the law did not take cognizance of the superphysical, +or suspicion founded on anything so +immaterial as ghosts, although they themselves +would not like to go as far as to deny their existence +altogether. At length, being unable to prevail +upon the police to do anything, Casson, by offering +a handsome remuneration, persuaded two labourers +to accompany him back to the stream. Arriving +at the stepping-stones, they cautiously examined +the middle one, and found it to be so poised that +anyone standing on it would, by its unexpected<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span> +tilt, suddenly be precipitated into a deep hole +directly underneath it.</p> + +<p>After considerable difficulty the stone was sufficiently +moved on one side to enable the workmen +to explore this hole, and at the bottom of it the +skeletons of two men and a dog were discovered.</p> + +<p>There was nothing on the one skeleton that +could in any way help to identify it; but remnants +of clothes, ragged and rotten, still adhered to the +other, and from the name engraven on a card-case +in the pocket of the coat, which tallied with the +initials on the undergarments and a signet ring, +there was little doubt but that the remains were +those of Ralph Wotherall. [From subsequent inquiries +it was ascertained that the friends and +relatives of Ralph Wotherall had heard from him +immediately prior to the time he was supposed to +have left Stepping-Stone Farm, but had not heard +from him since, a fact to which they had attributed +little importance, as Wotherall, on more than one +occasion, had suddenly decided to go abroad, where +he had stayed for a couple of years or so without +letting anyone know where he was or what he was +doing. The story, they said, of his being so hard +up as to be unable to pay the rent could be +discredited by his solicitors, who would testify to +the fact that they had but recently invested a +large sum of money for him, from which he was +deriving a not inconsiderable income.] A steel +collar bearing the initials R. L. W. was found +round the neck of the third skeleton, and as +several people remembered having seen a big black<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span> +retriever with Wotherall while he was staying at +the farm, it was pretty certain that the canine +remains were those of his dog. However, Mrs. +Griffiths, who appeared to be quite as astonished +as anyone at the discovery of the skeletons, still +stuck to her original story that Wotherall had left +the neighbourhood, taking his dog with him, and +against her statements Casson could only reiterate +his surmises. He was quite certain that Mrs. +Griffiths and her evil-faced son were guilty of +murder, that, having done away with Wotherall +and some other man by means of the stepping-stone, +they had deliberately set the same deathtrap +for him, and that he had only been saved +from falling into it by the apparition of his old +friend’s dog; but he could not, of course, expect +the police to work up a case, which, from their +point of view, rested upon such an unsubstantial +foundation, and as on examination the skeleton +showed no evidence of foul play, there was no +alternative, the usual verdict of “Death from misadventure” +had to be returned.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span></p> + + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a><span class="g">CHAPTER XIII</span><br /> +<br /> +THE PINES</h2> + + + +<p>“<span class="smcap">Who</span> is the most interesting person in this +institution?” my friend Dr. Custance remarked, repeating +my words. “If you mean from your point +of view—ghosts, I should say Dacre, George Richard +Dacre. He is pretty old now—close upon seventy, +and very possibly you have never heard of him. +The case, with which he was somewhat closely +connected, took place in Cumberland about forty +years ago, and the spot is still said to be haunted. +If you would like to hear all about it, come along, +and I will introduce you to him.”</p> + +<p>Custance led me into a room, where an old +man, with a glistening bald head and white beard, +sat, leaning back in his chair, and examining his +hands with an air of strange intensity.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Dacre,” Custance remarked, “I have +brought you a visitor, a Mr. Elliot O’Donnell, who is +very interested in the supernatural, and would +much like to hear some of your experiences.”</p> + +<p>The old man raised his eyes; they did not look +at me, but beyond, far beyond, into a world that +seemed known only to himself.</p> + +<p>“I have only had one experience,” he said, “and +that was a long while ago; so long that, at times,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span> +it seems as if it must have happened to me in another +incarnation, when I was something out of +doors—a pine or an elm—something growing in a +wood. I can still, occasionally, smell resin, after +one of those long hot summers we used to have,—seventy +or eighty years ago,—and occasionally +hear the wind, the deliciously cool, evening breezes, +rustling and sighing, as it were, through my branches +and fanning my perspiring bark. Sit down, and I +will tell you all about it.</p> + +<p class="dots">.<span class="dot">.</span><span class="dot">.</span><span class="dot">.</span><span class="dot">.</span><span class="dot">.</span><span class="dot">.</span></p> + +<p>“It was a cold night. Rain had been falling +steadily not only for hours but days—the ground +was saturated. As I walked along the country +lane, the slush splashed over my boots and trousers. +To my left was a huge stone wall, behind which I +could see the nodding heads of pines; and through +them the wind was rushing, making a curious +whistling sound—now loud, now soft—roaring and +gently murmuring. The sound fascinated me. I +fancied it might be the angry voice of a man and +the plaintive pleading of a woman, and then, a +weird chorus of unearthly beings, of grotesque +things that stalked across the moors and crept +from behind huge boulders. Nothing but the +wind was to be heard. I stood and listened to it. +I could have listened for hours, for I felt in harmony +with my surroundings—lonely. The moon showed +itself at intervals from behind the scudding clouds +and lighted up the open landscape to my right. A +gaunt hill covered with rocks, some piled up +pyramidically, others strewn here and there; a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span> +few trees with naked arms tossing about and looking +distressfully thin beside the more stalwart +boulders; a sloping field or two, a couple of level +ones, crossed by a tiny path; and the lane, where +I stood. The scenery was desolate—not actually +wild, but sad and forlorn; and the wood by my +side lent an additionally weird aspect to the place, +which was pleasing to me.</p> + +<p>“Suddenly I heard a sound—a sound, familiar +enough at other times; but, at this hour, and in +this place, everything seemed different. A woman +was coming along the road—a woman in a dark +cloak, with a basket under her arm; and the +wind was blowing her skirts about her legs.</p> + +<p>“I looked at the trees. One singularly gaunt and +fantastic one appalled me. It had long, gnarled +arms, and two of them ended in bunches of twigs +like hands—yes, they were exactly like hands—huge, +murderous-looking hands, with bony fingers. The +moonlight played over and around me—I was +bathed in it. I had no business to be on the earth—my +proper place was in the moon. I no longer +thought it—I knew it. The woman was close +at hand. She stopped at a little wicket gate +leading into the lane skirting the northern boundary +of the wood. I felt angry; what right had she +to be there, interrupting my musings with the +moon! The tree with the human hands appeared +to agree. I saw anger in the movements of its +branches—anger, which soon blazed into fury. +It gave a mighty bend towards her, as if longing +to rend her in pieces.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span></p> + +<p>“I followed the woman; and the wind howled +louder and louder through those rustling leaves.</p> + +<p>“How long I scrambled on I do not know. +As soon as the moonlight left me, I fell into +a kind of slumber—a delicious trance, broken +only by the restless murmurings, the sighings and +groanings of the wind. Sweeter music I never +heard. Then came a terrible change. The charm +of my thoughts was broken—I awoke from my +reverie.</p> + +<p>“A terrific roar broke on my ears, and a perfect +hurricane of rain swept through the wood. I +crept cold and shivering beneath the shelter of the +trees. To my surprise a hand fell on my shoulder: +it was a man, and, like myself, he shivered.</p> + +<p>“‘Who are you?’ he whispered, in a strangely +hoarse voice. ‘Who are you? Why are you +here?’</p> + +<p>“‘You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,’ I +replied, shaking off the man’s grasp.</p> + +<p>“‘Well,—tell me,’ he rejoined; ‘for God’s sake +tell me.’ He was frightened—trembling with +fright. Could it be the storm, or was it—was it +those trees?</p> + +<p>“I told him then and there why I had trespassed. +I was fascinated—the wind—and the trees—had +led me thither.</p> + +<p>“‘So am I,’ he whispered; ‘I am fascinated. +It is a long word, but it describes my sentiments. +What did the wind sound like?’</p> + +<p>“I told him. He was a poor, common man, +and had no poetical ideas. The wildly romantic<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span> +had never interested him—he was but an ignorant +labouring man.</p> + +<p>“‘Sounded like sighing, groaning, and so on?’ +he said, repeating my words, and shifting uneasily +from one foot to another. He was cold, +horribly cold. ‘Was that all?’</p> + +<p>“‘Yes, of course. Why ask?’ I replied. Then +I laughed. This stupid, sturdy son of toil had +been scared; to him the sounds had been those of +his moorland bogies—things he had dreaded in +his infancy. I told him so. He didn’t like to hear +me make fun of him. He didn’t like my laugh, and +he persisted: ‘Was that all you heard?’</p> + +<p>“Then I grew impatient, and asked him to explain +what he meant.</p> + +<p>“‘Well,’ he said, ‘I thought I heard a scream,—a +cry. Just as if some one had jumped out on +some one else and taken them unawares. Maybe +it was the wind—only the wind. But it had an +eerie sound.’</p> + +<p>“The man was nervous. The storm had +frightened away whatever little wit he may have +possessed.</p> + +<p>“‘Come, let us be going,’ I said, moving off in +the direction of the wall. I wanted to find a new +exit; I was tired of paths.</p> + +<p>“The man kept close to me. I could hear his +teeth chatter. Accidentally his hand brushed +against mine. His flesh was icy cold. He gave +a cry as if a snake had bitten him. Then the +truth flashed through me. The man was mad. +His terror, his strange manner of showing it, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span> +now this sudden shrinking from me revealed it +all—he was mad—the moon and trees had done +their work.</p> + +<p>“‘I’m not going that way,’ he said, ‘come +along with me. I want to see which of the trees +it was that cried.’</p> + +<p>“His voice was changed; he seemed suddenly +to have grown stranger. There was no insanity +in his tone now. But I knew the cunning of the +insane, and I feared to anger him, so I acquiesced. +What an idea! One of the trees had cried! Did +he mean the wind?</p> + +<p>“He grew sullen when I jeered at him. He led +me to a little hollow in the ground, and I noticed +the prints of several feet in the wet mud. Then I +saw something which sent the cold blood to my +heart. A woman bathed in blood lay before me. +Somehow she was familiar to me. I looked again—then +again. Yes, there was the dark shawl, the +basket—broken, it was true, with the contents +scattered; but it was the same basket. It was the +woman I had seen coming down the road.</p> + +<p>“‘My God, whatever is this!’ The man by my +side spoke. He swayed backwards and forwards +on his feet, his face white and awful in the moonlight. +He was sick with terror. ‘Oh God, it is +horrible—horrible!’ Then, with a sudden +earnestness and a crafty look in his eyes, he bent +over her.</p> + +<p>“‘Who is it?’ he cried. ‘Who is the poor +wretch?’</p> + +<p>“I saw him peer into her face, but he didn’t<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span> +touch her—he dreaded the blood. Then he started +back, his eyes filled with such savageness as I +had never seen in any man’s before. He looked +a devil—he was a devil. ‘It’s my wife!’ he +shrieked. ‘My wife!’ His voice fell and turned +into what sounded like a sob. ‘It’s Mary. She +was coming back to Helvore. It was her cry. +There—see it—confound you! You have it on +your arm—your coat—all over you.’</p> + +<p>“He raised his hand to strike me. The moonlight +fell on it—a great coarse hand—and I noticed, +with a thrill of horror, a red splash on it. It was +blood. The man was a murderer. He had killed +his wife, and, with all the cunning of the madman, +was trying to throw the guilt on me.</p> + +<p>“I sprang at him with a cry of despair. He +kicked and bit, and tried to tear my arms from +his neck; but somehow I seemed to have ten +times my usual strength.</p> + +<p>“And all the time we struggled a sea of faces +waved to and fro, peering down at us from the +gaunt trees above.</p> + +<p>“He gave in at length. I was no longer obliged +to hold him with an iron grip, and help came +eventually in the shape of a policeman, who seemed +to grasp the situation quite easily. There had been +a murder; the man I had secured was known to +him. He was a labouring man of unsteady habits; +he had been drinking, had met and quarrelled +with his wife. The rest was to be seen in the +ghastly heap before us.</p> + +<p>“The wretch had no defence. He seemed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span> +dazed, and eyed the bloodstains on his face and +clothes in a stupid kind of way.</p> + +<p>“I slipped five shillings into the policeman’s +hand when we parted. He thanked me and +pocketed the money; he knew his position and +mine too; I was a gentleman, and a very plucky one +at that. So I thought as I walked back to my +rooms; yet I lay awake and shuddered as visions +of the nodding heads of pines passed before me; +and from without, across the silent lanes and fields, +there rose and fell again the wailing of a woman—a +woman in distress.</p> + +<p class="dots">.<span class="dot">.</span><span class="dot">.</span><span class="dot">.</span><span class="dot">.</span><span class="dot">.</span><span class="dot">.</span></p> + +<p>“The murder in the wood was an event in +Helvore. The people were unused to such tragedies, +and it afforded them something to talk +about for many weeks. The evidence against +the husband was conclusive. He had been caught +red-handed, he was an habitual drunkard, and he +paid the penalty for his crime in the usual manner.</p> + +<p>“I left Helvore. I had seen enough of Cumberland +and thirsted for life in London once again. +Yet, often at night, the sighing of the wind in the +trees sounded in my ears, bidding me visit them +once more.</p> + +<p>“One day as I was sitting by my fire with a +pile of books at my side, taking life easily, for I +had nothing to do but to kill time, my old friend, +Frank Leethwaite, looked me up. He had been +at Sedbergh with me in the far-off eighties, and he +was the only friend of the old set with whom I +had been out of touch.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span></p> + +<p>“He had not altered much, in spite of a moustache +and a fair sprinkling of white hairs. I should have +known him had I met him anywhere. He was +wearing an Albert coat, and his face was red with +healthy exercise.</p> + +<p>“‘How are you, old chap?’ he exclaimed, +shaking hands in the hearty fashion of true friendship.</p> + +<p>“I winced, for he had strong hands.</p> + +<p>“‘Fit enough,’ I said, ‘only a bit bored. But +you—well, you look just the same, and fresh as a +daisy.’ I gave him the easy-chair.</p> + +<p>“‘Oh, I’m first rate—plenty of work. I’m a +journalist, you know. It’s a bit of a grind, but +I’m taking a holiday. You look pale. Your eyes +are bad?’</p> + +<p>“I told him they got strained if I read much.</p> + +<p>“‘I daresay you will think me mad,’ he went +on, ‘but I’m going to ask you rather a curious +question. I remember you used to be fond of +ghosts and all sorts of queer things.’</p> + +<p>“I nodded. We had had many discussions on +such subjects, in my study at school.</p> + +<p>“‘Well, I’m a member of the New Supernatural +Investigation Society.’</p> + +<p>“I smiled doubtfully. ‘Well, you can’t say +it has discovered much. The name is high-sounding, +but that is all.’</p> + +<p>“‘Never mind. Some day, perhaps, we shall +show the public what we can do.’</p> + +<p>“Leethwaite lit a cigarette, puffed away in +silence for a few seconds, and then went on:</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span></p> + +<p>“‘I am undertaking a little work for the Society +now!’</p> + +<p>“‘Where?’</p> + +<p>“‘In Cumberland. Ever been there?’</p> + +<p>“I nodded. Leethwaite was very much at his +ease.</p> + +<p>“‘Been to Helvore?’</p> + +<p>“I knew by instinct he would mention the +place.</p> + +<p>“He thought I looked ill, and told me I had been +overdoing it.</p> + +<p>“‘It is merely a case of “flu,”’ I assured +him. ‘I had it six weeks ago, and still feel the +effects.’</p> + +<p>(“The woman in the hollow was before me. I +saw again her shabby shawl and the blood round her +throat.)</p> + +<p>“‘There was a murder down there a short time +ago.’</p> + +<p>“‘I heard of it,’ I remarked casually. ‘It was +a wife murder, I believe.’</p> + +<p>“‘Yes, just a common wife murder, and the +fellow was caught and hanged.’</p> + +<p>“‘Then why the ghost?’</p> + +<p>“‘Well, that is the odd part of it,’ Leethwaite +said slowly, leaning back in his chair, his long legs +stretched out.</p> + +<p>“‘I have heard from two Helvore residents +that screams have been heard in the wood about +twelve o’clock at night. Not the time for practical +jokers, and the Cumberland peasantry are too +superstitious to try their pranks in unsavoury<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span> +spots. Besides, from what I have heard, the spot +is not only unsavoury, it is singularly uncanny.’</p> + +<p>“‘They haven’t seen anything?’ I asked.</p> + +<p>“‘No, only heard the cries, and they are so +terribly realistic that no one cares to pass the place +at night; indeed, it is utterly banned. I mentioned +the case to old Potters—you must have heard of him, +he used to write a lot for the <cite>Gentleman’s Magazine</cite>—and +he pressed me to go down and investigate. +I agreed; then I thought I would look you up. +Do you remember your pet aversion in the way of +ghosts?’</p> + +<p>“I nodded. ‘Yes, and I still have the aversion. +I think locality exercises strange influence over +some minds. The peaceful meadow scenery holds +no lurking horrors in its bosom; but in the lonely +moorlands, full of curiously moulded boulders, one +sees, or fancies one sees, grotesque creatures, odd +and ill-defined as their surroundings. As a child +I had a peculiar horror of those tall, odd-shaped +boulders, with sneering faces—featureless, it is +true, but sometimes strangely resembling the faces +of humans and animals. I believe the wood may +be haunted by something of this nature—terrible +as the trees.’</p> + +<p>“‘You know the wood?’</p> + +<p>“‘I do. And I know the trees.’</p> + +<p>“Again in my ears the wind rushed, as it had on +that memorable night.</p> + +<p>“‘Will you come with me?’</p> + +<p>“Leethwaite eyed me eagerly. The same old +affection he had once entertained for me was,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span> +ripening in his eyes; indeed it had always remained +there. Should I go? An irresistible +impulse seized me, a morbid craving to look once +more at the blood-stained hollow, to hear again the +wind. I looked out of the window; the sky was +cold and grey. There were rows and rows of +chimneys—chimneys everywhere—and an ocean of +dull, uninviting smoke. I began to hate London +and to long for the countless miles of blue +sea, and the fresh air of the woods. I assented +though my better judgment would have had me +refuse.</p> + +<p>“‘Yes,’ I replied, ‘I will go. As to the ghost, +it may be there, but it is not what you think; it +is not the apparition of a man. It may be, in +part, like a man, but it is one of those cursed +nightmares I have always had. I shall see it, +hear it shriek—and if I drop dead from fright, +you, old man, will be to blame.’</p> + +<p>“Leethwaite was an enthusiast, and psychical +adventure always allured him. He would run +the risk of my weak heart, he said, and have me +with him.</p> + +<p>“A thousand times I prepared to go back on +my word; a thousand tumultuous emotions of +some impending disaster rushed through me. I +felt on the border of an abyss, dark and hopeless; +I was pushed on by invisible and unfriendly hands. +I knew I must fall; I knew that those black depths +would engulf me eternally. I took the plunge. +We talked over Sedbergh days, and arranged our +train to the North. Leethwaite looked very<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span> +boyish, I thought, as he rose to go, and stood +smiling in the doorway.</p> + +<p>“He was all kindness; I liked him more than +ever. And yet, somehow, as we stood looking at +one another, a grey shadow swept around him, +and an icy pang shot through my heart.</p> + +<p class="dots">.<span class="dot">.</span><span class="dot">.</span><span class="dot">.</span><span class="dot">.</span><span class="dot">.</span><span class="dot">.</span></p> + +<p>“It was night once more, and the moonlight +poured in floods from over the summit of the +knoll where the uncanny boulders lay. Every +object stood silhouetted against the dark background. +A house, with its white walls, stood grim +and silent; the paths running in various directions +up and alongside the hill were made doubly clear +by the whiteness of the beams that fell on them. +There were no swift clouds, no mists to hide the +brilliance of the stars, and it was nearly midnight. +The air was cold, colder than is usual at Helvore, +and I shivered. Leethwaite stood by my side. I +glanced apprehensively at him. Why did he +stand in the moonlight? What business had he +there? I laughed, but I fear there was but little +mirth in the sound.</p> + +<p>“‘I wish you would stop that infernal noise,’ +he said; ‘I am pretty nervous as it is.’</p> + +<p>“‘All right,’ I whispered; ‘I won’t do it again.’</p> + +<p>“But I did, and he edged sharply away from +me. I looked over his head. There was the +gaunt tree with the great hands. I fancied +once again the branches were fingers. I told +him so.</p> + +<p>“‘For God’s sake, man, keep quiet,’ he replied.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span> +‘You are enough to upset any one’s nerves.’ He +looked at his watch for the hundredth time. ‘It’s +close on the hour.’</p> + +<p>“I again looked at the trees and listened. Suddenly, +although there had been absolute silence +before, I heard a faint breathing sound, a very +gentle murmur. It came from over the distant +knoll. At first very soft and low, but gradually +getting louder and louder, it rushed past us into +the wood beyond. I saw once more the great +trees rock beneath it; and again I heard those +voices—those of the woman and the man.</p> + +<p>“Leethwaite looked ill, very ill, I thought. +I touched him on the arm. ‘You are not frightened,’ +I said; ‘you—a member of the New Supernatural +Investigation Society?’</p> + +<p>“‘Something is going to happen,’ he gasped. +‘I feel it—I know it. We shall see the murder—we +shall know the secret of death. What is +that?’</p> + +<p>“Away in the distance the tap-tapping of shoes +came through the still night air. Tap—tap—tap, +down the path from the knoll.</p> + +<p>“I clutched Leethwaite by the arm. ‘You +think you will see the murder, do you? And the +murderer!’</p> + +<p>“Leethwaite didn’t answer. His breath came +in gasps; he looked about him like a man at +bay.</p> + +<p>“‘And the murderer! Ha! It comes from +there. See, it is looking at us from those trees. +It is all arms and legs; it has no human face. It<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span> +will drop to the earth, and then we shall see what +happens.’</p> + +<p>“Tap, tap, tap—the steps grew louder—nearer +and nearer they came. The great shadows stole +down, one by one, to meet them. I looked at +Leethwaite. He was fearfully expectant; so +was I.</p> + +<p>“A woman came tripping along the path. I +knew her in an instant—there was the shabby +shawl, the basket on her arm—it was the same. +She approached the wicket.</p> + +<p>“I looked at Leethwaite. He was spellbound with +fear. I touched his arm. I dragged him with me. +‘Come,’ I whispered, ‘we shall see which of us is +right. You think the ghostly murderer will resemble +us—will resemble men. It will not. Come.’</p> + +<p>“I dragged him forward. He would have fled, +but I was firm. We passed through the gate—we +followed the figure as it silently glided on. We +turned to the left. The place grew very dark as +the trees met overhead. I heard the trickling of +water and knew we were close to the ditch.</p> + +<p>“I gazed intently at the pines. When would +the horror drop from them? A sickly terror +laid hold of me. I turned to fly.</p> + +<p>“To my surprise Leethwaite stopped me. He +was all excitement. ‘Wait,’ he hissed. ‘Wait. +It is you who are afraid. Hark! It is twelve +o’clock.’ And as he spoke, the clock of the parish +church slowly tolled midnight. Then the end +came. An awful scream rang out; so piercing and +so full of terror that I felt the blood in my heart<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span> +stand still. But no figure dropped from the pines. +Not from the pines, but from behind the woman a +form darted forward and seized her by the neck. +It tore at her throat with its hands, it dragged +and hurried her into the moonlight; and then, oh +damning horror, I saw its face!—it was my own.”</p> + + +<p class="end">PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN BY MORRISON AND GIBB LIMITED, EDINBURGH</p> + +<hr class="l1" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span></p> + + +<div class="ads"> +<p class="ttl2"><b>SOME RECENT BOOKS</b><br /> +<br /> +<span class="f6">——— PUBLISHED BY ———</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="f14"><b>SANDS & CO.</b></span></p> + +<hr class="l6" /> + +<p class="ttl3">FICTION.</p> + + +<p class="ttl4">GOD’S FAIRY TALES.</p> + +<p class="dscr">Stories of the Supernatural in Everyday Life. By +<span class="smcap">Enid Dinnis</span>. Cr. 8vo. Price <b>4s.</b> net.</p> + + +<p class="ttl4">MYSTICS ALL.</p> + +<p class="dscr">By <span class="smcap">Enid Dinnis</span>. Cr. 8vo. Price <b>4s.</b> net.</p> + + +<p class="ttl4">THE CALL OF THE PAST.</p> + +<p class="dscr">By <span class="smcap">Florence Roch</span>. Cr. 8vo. Price <b>3s. 6d.</b> net.</p> + + +<p class="ttl4">THE ONION PEELERS.</p> + +<p class="dscr">A Novel. By <span class="smcap">R. P. Garrold</span>. Cr. 8vo. Price <b>6s.</b></p> + + +<p class="ttl4">A MORE EXCELLENT WAY.</p> + +<p class="dscr">A Novel. By <span class="smcap">Felicia Curtis</span>. Cr. 8vo. Price <b>6s.</b></p> + + +<p class="ttl4">O’LOGHLIN OF CLARE.</p> + +<p class="dscr">A Novel. By <span class="smcap">Rosa Mulholland</span>. Cr. 8vo. Price +<b>3s. 6d.</b> net.</p> + + +<p class="ttl4">THE TRAGEDY OF CHRIS.</p> + +<p class="dscr">By <span class="smcap">Rosa Mulholland</span>. Cr. 8vo. Price <b>3s. 6d.</b> net.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span></p> + + +<p class="ttl4">THE RETURN OF MARY O’MURROUGH.</p> + +<p class="dscr">By <span class="smcap">Rosa Mulholland</span>. Illustrated. Cr. 8vo. Price +<b>4s.</b> net.</p> + + +<p class="ttl4">MOLLY’S FORTUNES.</p> + +<p class="dscr">By <span class="smcap">M. E. Francis</span>. Cr. 8vo. Price <b>3s. 6d.</b> net.</p> + + +<p class="ttl4">THE MOTHER, AND OTHER STORIES.</p> + +<p class="dscr">By <span class="smcap">P. H. Pearse</span>. Cr. 8vo. Price <b>2s. 6d.</b> net.</p> + + +<p class="ttl4">WITH THE FRENCH RED CROSS.</p> + +<p class="dscr">Tales Founded on Fact. By <span class="smcap">Alice Dease</span>. Cr. 8vo. +Price <b>2s.</b> net.</p> + + +<p class="ttl4">MY MAN SANDY.</p> + +<p class="dscr">By <span class="smcap">J. B. Salmond</span>. 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Price <b>5s.</b> net.</p> + +<hr class="l2" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span></p> + + +<p class="ttl5">New Edition, with Glossary and Notes.<br /> +Cloth. Price <b>5s.</b> net.</p> + +<p class="ttl6">1128 Pages. Large Super-Royal 8vo, 10¼ by 7¼ inches.</p> + +<p class="ttl7">THE FALSTAFF SHAKESPEARE.</p> + +<p class="center"><b>CONTENTS.</b></p> + +<ul class="lsoff"> +<li>The Tempest.</li> +<li>The Two Gentlemen of Verona.</li> +<li>The Merry Wives of Windsor.</li> +<li>Measure for Measure.</li> +<li>The Comedy of Errors.</li> +<li>Much Ado about Nothing.</li> +<li>Love’s Labour Lost.</li> +<li>A Midsummer Night’s Dream.</li> +<li>The Merchant of Venice.</li> +<li>As You Like It.</li> +<li>The Taming of the Shrew.</li> +<li>All’s Well that Ends Well.</li> +<li>Twelfth Night; or, What You Will.</li> +<li>The Winter’s Tale.</li> +<li>The Life and Death of King John.</li> +<li>The Life and Death of King Richard II.</li> +<li>The First Part of King Henry IV.</li> +<li>The Second Part of King Henry IV.</li> +<li>The Life of King Henry V.</li> +<li>The First Part of King Henry VI.</li> +<li>The Second Part of King Henry VI.</li> +<li>The Third Part of King Henry VI.</li> +<li>The Tragedy of King Richard III.</li> +<li>The Famous History of the Life of King Henry VIII.</li> +<li>Troilus and Cressida.</li> +<li>Coriolanus.</li> +<li>Titus Andronicus.</li> +<li>Romeo and Juliet.</li> +<li>Timon of Athens.</li> +<li>Julius Cæsar.</li> +<li>Macbeth.</li> +<li>Hamlet, Prince of Denmark.</li> +<li>King Lear.</li> +<li>Othello, the Moor of Venice.</li> +<li>Antony and Cleopatra.</li> +<li>Cymbeline.</li> +<li>Pericles.</li> +</ul> + + + +<p class="ttl6"><span class="smcap">Poems.</span></p> + +<ul class="lsoff"> +<li>Venus and Adonis.</li> +<li>The Rape of Lucrece.</li> +<li>Sonnets.</li> +<li>A Lover’s Complaint.</li> +<li>The Passionate Pilgrim.</li> +<li>The Phœnix and the Turtle.</li> +<li>Glossary and Notes.</li> +</ul> + +<hr class="l7" /> + +<p>In this, the “Falstaff” Edition of Shakespeare’s Works, +the order in which the plays are presented is that of the +first folio edition of 1623—“Pericles,” which was not +included in that edition, and the poems being added at +the end of the volume. No new reading of the text is +attempted; and only those variations from the text of the +early editions are included which have been accepted by +the best Shakespearean critics. The task of the present +Editor has consisted solely in the choice between the +readings of these critics, where they disagree. For the +most part the text of Delius has been followed.</p> + +<hr class="l2" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span></p> + + +<p class="ttl3">TRAVEL, HISTORY, AND BIOGRAPHY.</p> + + +<p class="ttl4">THE MEMOIRS OF BARON HYDE DE NEUVILLE.</p> + +<p class="dscr">Outlaw, Exile, and Ambassador. Translated from +the French by <span class="smcap">Frances Jackson</span>. In 2 volumes. +With 16 full-page Illustrations. Demy 8vo. Price +<b>21s.</b> net.</p> + +<p class="f9">These volumes relate the hairbreadth escapes of M. Hyde de +Neuville under the Terror, the Directory, and the Empire; his +two diplomatic Missions to the United States, and his adventurous +embassy to Portugal.</p> + + +<p class="ttl4">A PAPAL ENVOY DURING THE REIGN OF +TERROR.</p> + +<p class="dscr">Being the Memoirs of Mgr. de Salamon, Internuncio +in Paris during the French Revolution (1790-1801). +Edited by the <span class="smcap">Abbé Bridier</span>; translated by <span class="smcap">Frances +Jackson</span>. With Portraits, and many interesting Views +of Old Paris and its Surroundings. Demy 8vo. +Price <b>6s.</b> net.</p> + +<p class="f9">“A remarkable addition to the historical materials concerning the +revolution. Presented with the vivid simplicity of an eye-witness and +of one who again and again stood near to death.”—<cite>Daily Telegraph.</cite></p> + + +<p class="ttl4">A HISTORY OF THE ROYAL FAMILY OF +ENGLAND.</p> + +<p class="dscr">An account of the private, as opposed to the public, +history of the several Kings and Queens, of their +children, and of such of their immediate descendants +or relatives as have played any part in English History, +or have lived in England. By <span class="smcap">Frederic G. Bagshawe</span>. +704 pages. With 26 Genealogical Tables. Demy 8vo. +Price <b>7s. 6d.</b> net.</p> + + +<p class="ttl4">THE MIRROR OF OXFORD.</p> + +<p class="dscr">A Catholic History of Oxford. By the Rev. <span class="smcap">C. +Dawson</span>, S.J. With 2 Maps and numerous black +and white Illustrations. Cr. 8vo. Price <b>3s. 6d.</b> net.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p class="edr">London: 15 King Street, Covent Garden, W.C. 2; +37 George Street, Edinburgh; and 76 Cambridge +Street, Glasgow.</p> +</div> + +<div class="tnote"> +<p class="tn">Transcriber’s note</p> + +<p>The following corrections have been made, on page<br /> + +36 “frienzied” changed to “frenzied” (eyes fixed in a frenzied +stare)<br /> + +148 : added (obvious to all (namely): That various inexplicable noises)<br /> + +171 . added (phenomena the most common. Were the victims)<br /> + +216 ” changed to ’ (tell me.’ He was frightened)<br /> + +218 ” changed to ’ (horrible—horrible!’ Then)<br /> + +221 ’ removed (a bit bored. But you)<br /> + +221 “ changed to ‘ (doubtfully. ‘Well, you can’t say)<br /> + +221 ’ added (show the public what we can do.’)<br /> + +224 ’ and ‘ added (Yes,’ I replied, ‘I will go.)<br /> + +225 ” changed to ’ (keep quiet,’ he replied.)<br /> + +230 . added (8vo.).</p> + +<p>Otherwise the original has been preserved, including inconsistent +spelling and hyphenation.</p> + +</div> + +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 44397 ***</div> +</body> +</html> + diff --git a/44397-h/images/cover.jpg b/44397-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..060181c --- /dev/null +++ b/44397-h/images/cover.jpg |
