from my mind, and this extraordinary behavior of the library fireplace
astounded me. It is not in reason that a perfectly normal fireplace,
built in the most approved fashion, and with chimneys that rise into as
clear an ether as October can bestow, could act so monstrously without
the intervention of some malign agency. We had discussed all the
possibilities the previous night, and I was not anxious to hear further
lay opinions. The chimney's conduct was annoying, the more so that to
my professional sense it was inexplicable.
Lord Arrowood had retreated discreetly toward the door, and the others
had risen and stood close behind Cecilia, whose gaze was bent rather
accusingly upon me.
A dark thought had crossed my mind. As our eyes met, I felt that she
had read my suspicions and did not wholly reject them. Henderson was
valiantly poking the logs, while one or two of the other men gave him
the benefit of their advice. I crossed the hall to the drawing-room,
but no one was there. I went back to the billiard-room, but saw
nothing of Miss Octavia. Cecilia had rung for the footman, and I
passed him in the hall on his way to answer her summons. I stopped him
with an inquiry on my lips; but I could not ask the question; even in
my perplexity as to the cause of the chimney's remarkable performances
I did not so far forget myself as to communicate my suspicion to a
servant.
"Nothing, Thomas," I said; and the man passed on.
It was possible, of course, that Miss Octavia knew more than she cared
to tell about the erratic ways of the library chimney, or she might
indeed be the cause of its vagaries. Sufficient time had elapsed after
her retirement from the library to allow her to gain the roof and clap
a stopper on the chimney-pot. This did not however account for the
fact that on the previous evening she had been present in the library
when the same chimney had manifested a similar sulkiness. I was still
pondering these things when I heard loud laughter from the library, and
on returning found the logs again blazing in the fireplace, from which
the smoke rose demurely in the flue.
"This fireplace is like a geyser, Mr. Ames," said Cecilia, "and spurts
smoke at regular intervals. As I remember, the clock on the stair was
striking nine last night when the smoke poured out, and there--it is
striking nine now!"
She tossed her head slightly; and this was, I thought, in disdain of
the suspicion that must still have shown itself a little stubbornly in
my face.
I withdrew again in a few minutes, and followed the great chimney's
course upward. Miss Octavia's apartments were at the front of the
house, her sitting-room windows looking out upon the Italian garden.
Her doors were closed, but I knew from my examination in the morning
that the flue of her fireplace tapped the chimney that rose from the
drawing-room, and had nothing whatever to do with the library chimney.
From the fourth floor I gained the roof, by the route followed on my
inspection of the house in the morning. The smoke from the library
chimney was rising in the crisp, still air blithely. I leaned upon the
crenelations and looked off across the hills, enjoying the loveliness
of the sky, in which the planets throbbed superbly. There was nothing
to be learned here, and I crept back to the trap-door through which I
had come, made it fast, and continued on down to the library.
There, somewhat to my surprise, I found that in my absence all but Hume
had taken their departure. As I paused unseen in the doorway, I caught
words that were clearly not intended for my ear.
Cecilia sat by the long table near the fireplace; Hume stood before
her, his arms folded.
"You are kind; you do me great honor, Professor Hume, but under no
circumstances can I become your wife."
I retreated hastily to the billiard-room, where I took a cue from the
rack and amused myself for perhaps fifteen minutes, when, hearing the
outer door close and knowing that Hume had departed with his congee, I
returned to the library.
Cecilia sat where I had left her, and at first glance I thought she was
reading; but she turned quickly as I crossed the room. She held in her
hand an oblong silver trinket not larger than a card-case. A short
pencil similar to those affixed to dance-cards was attached to it by a
slight cord, and she had, I inferred, been making a notation of some
kind on a leaf of the silver-bound booklet. Even after she had looked
up and smiled at me, her eyes sought the page before her; then she
closed the covers and clasped the pretty toy in her hand. As though to
divert my attention she recurred at once to the chimney, in a vein of
light irony.
"You see," she said, "there is ample reason for your remaining here.
You would hardly find anywhere else so interesting a test of your
professional powers as Hopefield Manor offers. The house is haunted
beyond question, and I can see that you are not a man to leave two
defenseless women to the mercy of a ghost who drops down chimneys at
will."
I suffered her chaff for several minutes, then I asked point-blank:--
"Pardon me, but have you the slightest idea that Miss Octavia is behind
this? It is not possible that she was responsible last night; but she
was not on this floor a while ago when the smoke poured in here. I
should be glad to hear your opinion."
"I saw that you suspected her before you left the room, Mr. Ames, and I
must say that the idea is in no way creditable to you. If you
entertain such a suspicion you must supply a motive, and just what
motive would you attribute to my Aunt Octavia in this instance?"
Her tone and manner piqued me, or I should not have answered as I did.
"It is possible," I said, "that some of these gentlemen who came here
to-night were not to her liking, and it may have occurred to her to get
rid of them by the obviously successful method of smoking them out."
She rose, still clasping the little silver-backed note-book, and looked
me over with amusement in her face and eyes.
"You are almost too ingenious, Mr. Ames. I hope that by breakfast-time
you will have some more plausible solution of the problem. Good-night."
And so, tightly clasping the little book, she left the room. I
followed her to the door, and at the turn of the stair she glanced down
and nodded. Her face, as it hung above me for an instant, seemed
transfigured with happiness.
But, as will appear, my adventures for the day were not concluded.
IX
I MEET A PLAYFUL GHOST
It was not yet ten o'clock, and I was dismayed at the thought of being
left to my own devices in this big country-house, at an hour when the
talk at the Hare and Tortoise usually became worth while. I sat down
and began to turn over the periodicals on the library table, but I was
in no mood for reading.
The butler appeared and offered me drink, but the thought of drinking
alone did not appeal to me. I repelled the suggestion coldly; but
after I had dropped my eyes to the English review I had taken up, I was
conscious that he stood his ground.
"Beg pardon, sir."
"Well?"
"Hit's a bit hod about the chimney, sir."
The professional man in me was at once alert. The chimney's conduct
was inexplicable enough, but I was in no humor to brook the theories of
a stupid servant. Still, he might know something, so I nodded for him
to go on.
He glanced over his shoulder and came a step nearer.
"They say in the village, sir, that the 'ouse is 'aunted."
"What?"
"'Aunted, sir."
"Who say it, James?"
"The liveryman told the coachman, and the 'ousemaid got hit from a
seamstress. Hit's werry queer, sir."
"Rubbish, James. I 'm amazed that a person of your station should
listen to a liveryman's gossip. There 's the chimney, it's working
perfectly. Some shift of air-currents causes it to puff a little smoke
into this room occasionally, but those things are not related to the
supernatural. We 'll find some way of correcting it in a day or two."
"Werry good, sir. But begging pardon, the chimney hain't hall. Hit
walks, if I may so hexpress hit."
"Walks?" I exclaimed, sitting up and throwing down my review. "What
walks?"
"You 'ear hit, sir, hin the walls. Hit goes right through the solid
brick, most hunaccountable."
"You hear a mouse in the walls and think it's a ghost? But you forget,
James, that this is a new house,--only a year or so old,--and spooks
don't frequent such places. If it were an old place, it might be
possible that the creaking of floors and the settling of walls would
cause uneasiness in nervous people. The ghost tradition usually rests
on some ugly fact. But here nothing of the kind is present."
"Hit was one of 'is majesty's horfficers, sir," he answered hoarsely.
[Illustration: "Hit was one of 'is majesty's horfficers, sir," he
answered hoarsely.]
It flashed over me that this big stolid fellow was out of his head; but
sane or mad he was clearly greatly disturbed. It was best, I thought,
on either hypothesis, to speak to him peremptorily, and I rose, the
better to deal with the situation.
"What nonsense is this you have in your head? You 're in the United
States, and there are n't any majesty's soldiers to deal with. You
forget that you 're not in England now."
"But this 'ere country used to be Henglish, you may recall, sir. The
story the coachman got hin the village goes back to the hold times,
sir, when the colonies was hin rebellion, if I may so call hit, sir,
and 'is majesty's troops was puttin' down the rebellion hin these
parts. Some American rebels chased a British soldier from hover near
White Plains to these 'ere woods as they was then, and they 'anged 'im,
sir, right where this 'ere 'ouse stands, if I may make so free."
"Ah! This is a revolutionary relic, then?"
"You 'ave got hit, sir," he sputtered eagerly. "They 'anged the man
right 'ere where the 'ouse stands."
"That's not a bad story, James. And what does your mistress say about
it?"
"Well, sir; hit's the talk hin the village that that's why she bought
the place, sir. She rather fancies ghosts and the like, as you may
know, sir."
"Be careful what you say, James. Miss Hollister is a noble and wise
lady, and you do well to give her your best service."
"We're all fond of 'er, sir, though she's a bit troubled hin the 'ead,
if I may make so bold. She says a good ghost is a hasset."
I did not at once catch 'asset' with an aspirate, but when he repeated
it, I laughed in spite of myself.
"You 'd better go to bed, James. And don't encourage talk among the
other servants about this ghost. I know something about the building
of houses, and I 'll give these walls a good looking over. Good-night."
It was apparent that my interview had not cheered him greatly. He
turned at the door, to ask if I would put out the lights, and fear was
so clearly written upon his big red face that I dismissed him sharply.
I made myself comfortable for an hour, smoking a cigar over an article
on English politics, and while I read, a big log placidly burned itself
to ashes. I found the switch and snapped out the library lights. When
I had gained the second floor I turned off the lights in the hall
below, and as I looked down the well to make sure I had turned the
right key, the third floor lights suddenly died and I was left in
darkness. This was the least bit disconcerting. I was quite sure that
the upper lights had remained burning brightly after the darkening of
the lower hall, so that it was hardly possible that the one switch had
cut off both lights.
Standing by the rail that guarded the well, I peered upward, thinking
that some one above me was manipulating another switch; but the silence
was as complete as the blackness. I was about to turn from the rail to
the wall to find the switch, but at this moment, as my face was still
lifted in the intentness with which I was listening, something brushed
my cheek,--something soft of touch and swift of movement. As I gripped
the rail I felt this touch once, twice, thrice. Then my hand sought
the wall madly, and with so bad an aim that it was quite a minute
before I found the switch-plate and snapped all the keys. The stair,
and the halls above and below me sprang into being again, and I stood
blinking stupidly upward.
Though I was in a modern house thoroughly lighted by electricity, I
cannot deny that this incident, following so quickly upon the butler's
story, occasioned a moment's acute horripilation, accompanied by an
uncomfortable tremor of the legs. As already hinted, I lay no claim to
great valor. As for ghosts, I am half persuaded of their existence,
and after witnessing a presentation of Hamlet, always feel that
Shakespeare is as safe a guide in such matters as the destructive
scientific critics.
There were various plausible explanations of the failure of the lights.
Some switch that I did not know of, perhaps in the third-floor hall,
might have been turned; or the power house in the village might have
been shifting dynamos. Either solution of the riddle was credible.
But the ghostly touch on my face could not be accounted for so readily.
Leaving the lights on, I continued to the third floor, and examined the
switch, and sought in other ways to explain these phenomena. My
composure returned more slowly than I care to confess, and I think it
was probably in my mind that the ghost of King George's dead soldier
might be lying in wait for me; but I saw and heard nothing. The doors
of the unused chambers on the third floor were closed, and I did not
feel justified in trying them. The servants were housed on this floor,
at the rear of the house, and a door that cut off their quarters proved
on examination to be tightly locked.
The fourth floor was only a half-story, used for storage purposes. The
roof was gained, I recalled, by an iron ladder and a hatchway in a
trunk-room. I ran down to my room and found a candle, to be armed
against any further fickleness of the lights, and set out for the
fourth floor. I had changed my coat, and with a couple of candles and
a box of matches started for the roof. My courage had risen now, and I
was ready for any further adventure that the night might hold for me.
Miss Hollister and Cecilia were both in their rooms, presumably asleep;
the servants doubtless had their doors barred against ghostly visitors,
and the house was mine to explore as I pleased.
I think I was humming slightly as I mounted the stair, which, in
keeping with the general luxuriousness that characterized the
furnishing of the house, was thickly carpeted even to the fourth floor.
I was slipping my hand along the rail, and mounting, I dare say, a
little jauntily as I screwed my courage to an unfamiliar notch, when
suddenly, midway of the first half, and just before I reached the turn
where the stair broke, the lights failed again, with startling
abruptness. This was carrying the joke pretty far, and instantly I
clapped my hand to my pocket for the box of safety-matches, dug it out,
and then in my haste dropped the lid essential to ignition, and stooped
to find it.
The stair had narrowed on this flight, and as I sought with futile
eagerness to regain the box-lid, I could have sworn that some one
passed me. Still half-stooping, I stretched out my arms and clasped
empty air, and so suddenly had I thrown myself forward, that I lost my
balance and rolled downward the space of half a dozen treads before I
recovered myself. I was badly scared and hardly less angry at having
missed through my own clumsiness the joy of grappling with the ghost of
one of King George's soldiers; but the matches having been lost in the
pitch-darkness of the stair, I could get my bearings again only by
clinging to the stair-rail until I found the second-floor switch. I
should say that two full minutes had passed between the loss of the
matches and my flashing on of the lamps. From top to bottom the lights
shone brightly; but no one was visible and I heard no sound in any part
of the house.
As I began to analyze my sensations during the temporary eclipse of the
lights, I was conscious of two things. The being, human or other, that
had passed me had been light of step and fleet of motion. There had
been something uncanny in the ease and speed of that passing. I was
without conviction as to its direction, whether up or down, though I
inclined to the former notion for the reason that the employment of a
concealed switch above seemed the more reasonable argument. And a
faint, an almost imperceptible scent, as of a flower, had seemed to be
a part of the passing. Mine is a sensitive nostril, and I was
confident that it did not betray me in this. The sensation stirred by
that faintest of odors had been agreeable; there was nothing suggestive
of grave-mold or cerecloth about it. There was in fact something
rather delightfully human and contemporaneous in this fellow that
pleased and reassured me. That scamp of a revolutionary British
soldier, resenting as was his right the application of hemp to his
precious neck, had still a grace in him, and a ghost who prowls
undaunted about an electric-lighted house in this twentieth century,
having his whim with the switches, cannot be an utterly bad fellow. My
respect for all who are doomed to walk the night rose as, leaving the
lights on clear to the lower hall, I gathered up my matches and started
again for the roof. The trunk-room door opened readily, as on my
morning inspection of the chimney-pots, but as I glanced up, I saw that
the hatch was open. Through the aperture shone the heavens, a square
of stars, and bright with the moon's radiance. Pocketing my matches, I
ran nimbly up the ladder.
X
MY BEFUDDLEMENT INCREASES
I had been surprised to find the hatch open, but it is not too much to
say that I was greatly astonished by what I saw on the moon-flooded
roof. There, midway of a flat area that lay between the two larger
chimney-pots, two persons were intently engaged, not in ghostly
promenading or posturing, or even in audible conversation, but in a
spirited bout with foils! The clicking and scraping of the steel
testified unmistakably to the reality of their presence. And I was
grateful for those sounds! It needed only silence to tumble me back
down the trap with chattering teeth, but these were beyond question
corporeal beings, albeit rendered weird and fantastical by the oddity
of their playground and the soft effulgence of the moon. The vigor of
the onset and the skill of the antagonists held me spellbound. I stood
with head and shoulders thrust through the opening, staring at this
unusual spectacle, and not sure but that after all my eyes were
tricking me.
"_Touche!_"
It was a woman's voice, faint from breathlessness. She threw off her
mask and dropped her foil, and with a most human and feminine gesture
put up her hands to adjust her hair. It was Cecilia Hollister, in a
short skirt and fencing coat!
Her opponent was a man, and as he too flung off his mask I saw that he
was a gentleman of years. If Miss Cecilia Hollister chose to meet
strange men on the roof of her aunt's house and practice the fencer's
art with them, it was no affair of mine, and I was about to withdraw
when the stranger swung round and saw me. His sudden exclamation
caused the girl to turn, and as a reasonable frankness has always
seemed to me essential to a nice discretion, I crawled out on the roof.
"I beg your pardon, Miss Hollister, but if I had known you were here I
should not have intruded. The vagaries of the library chimney have
been on my mind, and I was about to have another peep into yonder pot."
She stood at her ease, with one hand resting lightly against the
inexplicable chimney in question, and still somewhat spent from her
exercise.
[Illustration: She stood at her ease, with one hand resting lightly
against the inexplicable chimney.]
"Father," she said, turning to the stranger who stood near, "this is
Mr. Ames, who is Aunt Octavia's guest."
The light of the gibbous moon enabled me to discern pretty clearly the
form and features of Mr. Bassford Hollister. And I find, in looking
over my notes, that I accepted as a matter of course the singular
meeting with my hostess's brother. I had grown so used to the ways of
the Hollisters I already knew, that the meeting with another member of
the family at eleven o'clock at night on the roof of this remarkable
house gave me no great shock of surprise. He was tall, slender and
dark, with fine eyes that suggested Cecilia's. His close-trimmed beard
was slightly gray: but he bore himself erect, and I had already seen
that he was alert of arm and eye and nimble of foot.
He put on his coat, which had been lying across one of the
crenelations, and covered his head with a small soft hat.
"This will do for to-night, Cecilia. You had the best of me. We 'll
try again another time. I 'm glad you stopped us, Mr. Ames. We 'd had
enough."
He seemed in no wise disturbed by my appearance, nor in any haste to
leave. This meeting between the father and daughter, I reasoned, could
hardly have been a matter of chance, and it must have been in Cecilia's
mind that some sort of explanation would not be amiss.
"Father and I have fenced together for years," she said. "My sister
Hezekiah does not care for the sport. As you have already seen that my
aunt Octavia is an unusual woman, given to many whims, I will not deny
to you that at present my father is _persona non grata_ in this house.
I beg to assure you that nothing to his discredit or mine has
contributed to that situation, nor can our meeting here to-night be
construed as detrimental to him or to me. In meeting my father in this
way I have in a sense broken faith with my aunt Octavia, but I assure
you, Mr. Ames, that it is only the natural affection for a daughter
that led my father to seek me here in this clandestine fashion."
Cecilia had spoken steadily, but her voice broke as she concluded, and
she walked quickly toward the hatchway. Her father stepped before me
to give her his hand through the opening.
I withdrew to the edge of the roof while a few words passed between
them that seemed to be on his part an expostulation and on hers an
earnest denial and plea. He passed her the foils and masks and she
vanished; whereupon he addressed himself to me.
"I had learned from both my daughters of your presence in my sister's
house, and I had expected to meet you, sooner or later. This is a
strange business, a strange business."
He had drawn out a pipe, which he filled and lighted dexterously. The
flame of his match gave me better acquaintance with his face. He
leaned against the serrated roof-guard with the greatest composure, his
hat tilted to one side, and drew his pipe to a glow. I had not
forgotten my encounter with the ghost on the stair, and as I waited for
him to speak, I was trying to identify him with the mysterious agency
that had tampered with the lights, and passed so ghostly a hand across
my face in the stair-well. I could hardly say that there had not been
time for either Bassford Hollister or his daughter to have reached the
roof after my experiences on the stair; and yet they had been engaged
so earnestly at the moment of my appearance at the hatchway that it was
improbable that either could have played ghost and flown to the roof
before I reached it. And eliminating the ghost altogether, I had yet
to learn how Bassford Hollister had gained entrance to the house. It
seemed best to drop speculations and wait for him to declare himself.
"You must understand, Mr. Ames, that my daughters, both of them, are
very dear to me. It is the great grief of my life that owing to
matters beyond my control I have been unable to care for them as I
should like to do. This being the case, I have been obliged to allow
them to accept many favors from my only sister Octavia. This in
ordinary circumstances would not be repugnant to my pride; but my
sister is a very unusual person. She must do for my children in her
own way, and while I was prepared, in agreeing that they should accept
her bounty, for some whimsical manifestation of her eccentric
character, I did not imagine that she would go so far as to shut me out
from all knowledge of her plans for them. That, Mr. Ames, is what has
happened."
His voice rose and fell mournfully. He puffed his pipe for a moment
and continued:--