IV

The following day I lunched alone with the Major, Mrs. Dale being absent

on a visit. It had been impossible to keep the truth from her (or what

we knew of it) and at present I could not quite foresee the issue of

last night's affair. Young Wales, who had been driven home in a car sent

from his place at a late hour, had not since put in an appearance; and

it was sufficiently evident that Mrs. Dale would not welcome him should

he do so, the hysterical panic which he had exhibited on the previous

night having disgusted her. She had not said so in as many words, but I

did not doubt it.

"Well, Addison?" said the Major as I entered, "have you got the facts

you were looking for?"

"Some of them," I replied, and opening my notebook I turned to the pages

containing notes made that morning.

The Major watched me with intense curiosity, and almost impatiently

awaited my next words. The servant having left the room:

"In the first place," I began, glancing at the notes, "I have been

consulting certain local records in the town, and I find that in the

year 1646 a certain Dame Pryce occupied a cabin which, according to one

record, 'stood close beside unto ye Lowe Fennel.'"

"That is, close beside this house?" interjected the Major excitedly.

"Exactly," I said. "She attracted the attention of one of the many

infamous wretches who disfigure the history of that period: Matthew

Hopkins, the self-styled Witch-Finder General. This was a witch-ridden

age, and the man Hopkins was one of those who fattened on the credulity

of his fellows, receiving a fee of twenty shillings for every unhappy

woman discovered and convicted of witchcraft. Poor Pryce was 'swum' in a

local pond (a test whereby the villain Hopkins professed to discover if

the woman were one of Satan's band, or otherwise) and burnt alive in

Reigate market-place on September 23, 1646."

"By God!" said the Major, who had not attempted to commence his lunch,

"that's a horrible story!"

"It is one of the many to the credit of Matthew Hopkins," I replied;

"but, without boring you with the details of this woman's examination

and so forth, I may say that what interests me most in the case is the

date--September 23."

"Why? I don't follow you."

"Well," I said, "there's a hiatus in the history of the place after

that, except that even in those early days it evidently suffered from

the reputation of being haunted; but without troubling about the

interval, consider the case of Seager, which you yourself related to

me. Was it not in the month of August that he was done to death here?"

"By Gad!" cried the Major, his face growing redder than ever,

"you're right!--and hang it all, Addison! it was in September--last

September--that the Ords cleared out!"

"I remember your mentioning," I continued, smiling at his excitement,

"that it was a very hot month?"

"It was."

"From a mere word dropped by one of the witnesses at the trial of poor

Pryce I have gathered that the month in which she was convicted of

practising witchcraft in her cabin adjoining Low Fennel (as it stood in

those days) was a tropically hot month also."

Major Dale stared at me uncomprehendingly.

"I'm out of my depth, Addison--wading hopelessly. What the devil has the

heat to do with the haunting?"

"To my mind everything. I may be wrong, but I think that if the glass

were to fall to-night, there would be no repetition of the trouble."

"You mean that it's only in very hot weather--"

"In phenomenally hot weather, Major--the sort that we only get in

England perhaps once in every ten years. For the glass to reach the

altitude at which it stands at present, in two successive summers, is

quite phenomenal, as you know."

"It's phenomenal for it to reach that point at all," said the Major,

mopping his perspiring forehead; "it's simply Indian, simply Indian,

sir, by the Lord Harry!"

"Another inquiry," I continued, turning over a leaf of my book, "I have

been unable to complete, since, in order to interview the people who

built your new wing, I should have to run up to London."

"What the blazes have they to do with it?"

"Nothing at all, but I should have liked to learn their reasons for

raising the wing three feet above the level of the hall-way."

Between the heat and his growing excitement, Major Dale found himself at

a temporary loss for words. Then:

"They told me," he shouted at the top of his voice, "they told me at the

time that it was something about--that it was due to the plan--that it

was----"

"I can imagine that they had some ready explanation," I said, "but it

may not have been the true one."

"Then what the--what the--is the true one?"

"The true one is that the new wing covers a former mound."

"Quite right; it does."

"If my theory is correct, it was upon this mound that the cabin of Dame

Pryce formerly stood."

"It's quite possible; they used to allow dirty hovels to be erected

alongside one's very walls in those days--quite possible."

"Moreover, from what I've learnt from Ord--whom I interviewed at the

Hall--and from such accounts as are obtainable of the death of Seager,

this mound, and not the interior of Low Fennel as it then stood, was the

scene of the apparitions."

"You've got me out of my depth again, Addison. What d'you mean?"

"Seager was strangled outside the house, not inside."

"I believe that's true," agreed the Major, still shouting at the top of

his voice, but gradually growing hoarser; "I remember they found him

lying on the step, or something."

"Then again, the apparition with the contorted face which peered in at

Mrs. Ord----"

"Lies, all lies!"

"I don't agree with you, Major. She was trying to shield her husband,

but I think she saw the contorted face right enough. At any rate it's

interesting to note that the visitant came from outside the house

again."

"But," cried the Major, banging his fist upon the table, "it wanders

about inside the house, and--and--damn it all!--it goes outside as

well!"

"Where it goes," I interrupted quietly, "is not the point. The point is,

where it comes from."

"Then where do you believe it comes from?"

"I believe the trouble arises, in the strictest sense of the word, from

the same spot whence it arose in the days of Matthew Hopkins, and from

which it had probably arisen ages before Low Fennel was built."

"What the--"

"I believe it to arise from the ancient barrow, or tumulus, above which

you have had your new wing erected."

Major Dale fell back in his chair, temporarily speechless, but breathing

noisily; then:

"Tumulus!" he said hoarsely; "d'you mean to tell me the house is built

on a dam' burial ground?"

"Not the whole house," I corrected him; "only the new wing."

"Then is the place haunted by the spirit of some uneasy Ancient Briton

or something of that sort, Addison? Hang it all! you can't tell me a

fairy tale like that! A ghost going back to pre-Roman days is a bit too

ancient for me, my boy--too hoary, by the Lord Harry!"

"I have said nothing about an Ancient British ghost--you're flying off

at a tangent!"

"Hang it all, Addison! I don't know what you're talking about at all,

but nevertheless your hints are sufficiently unpleasant. A tumulus! No

man likes to know he's sleeping in a graveyard, not even if it is two or

three thousand years old. D'you think the chap who surveyed the ground

for me knew of it?"

"By the fact that he planned the new wing so as to avoid excavation,

I think probably he did. He was wise enough to surmise that the order

might be cancelled altogether and the job lost if you learnt the history

of the mound adjoining your walls."

"A barrow under the study floor!" groaned the Major--"damn it all! I'll

have the place pulled down--I won't live in it. Gad! if Marjorie knew,

she would never close her eyes under the roof of Low Fennel again--I'm

sure she wouldn't, I know she wouldn't. But what's more, Addison, the

thing, whatever it is, is dangerous--infernally dangerous. It nearly

killed young Wales!" he added, with a complacency which was significant.

"It was the fright that nearly killed him," I said shortly.

Major Dale stared across the table at me.

"For God's sake, Addison," he said, "what does it mean? What unholy

thing haunts Low Fennel? You've studied these beastly subjects, and I

rely upon you to make the place clean and good to live in again."

"Major," I replied, "I doubt if Low Fennel will ever be fit to live

in. At any time an abnormal rise of temperature might produce the most

dreadful results."

"You don't mean to tell me----"

"If you care to have the new wing pulled down and the wall bricked up

again, if you care to keep all your doors and windows fastened securely

whenever the thermometer begins to exhibit signs of rising, if you avoid

going out on hot nights after dusk, as you would avoid the plague--yes,

it may be possible to live in Low Fennel."

Again the Major became speechless, but finally:

"What d'you mean, Addison?" he whispered; "for God's sake, tell me. What

is it?--what is it?"

"It is what some students have labelled an 'elemental' and some a

'control,'" I replied; "it is something older than the house, older,

perhaps, than the very hills, something which may never be classified,

something as old as the root of all evil, and it dwells in the Ancient

British tumulus."

V

As I had hoped, for my plans were dependent upon it, the mercury towered

steadily throughout that day, and showed no signs of falling at night;

the phenomenal heat-wave continued uninterruptedly. The household was

late retiring, for the grey lord--Fear--had imposed his will upon all

within it. Every shadow in the rambling old building became a cavern of

horrors, every sound that disturbed the ancient timbers a portent and a

warning.

That the servants proposed to leave _en masse_ at the earliest possible

moment was perfectly evident to me; in a word, all the dark old stories

which had grown up around Low Fennel were revived and garnished, and new

ones added to them. The horror of the night before had left its mark

upon every one, and the coming of dusk brought with it such a dread

as could almost be felt in the very atmosphere of the place. Ghostly

figures seemed to stir the hangings, ghostly sighs to sound from every

nook of the old hall and stairway; baleful eyes looked in at the open

windows, and the shrubberies were peopled with hosts of nameless things

who whispered together in evil counsel.

Mrs. Dale was as loath to retire as were the servants, more especially

since the Major and I were unable to disguise from her our intention of

watching for the strange visitant that night. But finally we prevailed

upon her to depart, and she ran upstairs as though the legions of the

lost pursued her, slamming and locking her door so that the sound echoed

all over the house.

We had told her nothing, of course, of my discoveries and theories, but

nevertheless the cat was out of the bag; the affair of the night before

had spoilt our scheme of secrecy.

In the Major's study we made our preparations. The windows were widely

opened, and the door was ajar. Not a breath of wind disturbed the

stillness of the night, and although Major Dale had agreed to act

exactly as I might direct, he stared in almost comic surprise when he

learnt the nature of these directions.

Placing two large silk handkerchiefs upon the table, I saturated them

with the contents of a bottle which I had brought in my pocket, and

handed one of the handkerchiefs to him.

"Tie that over your mouth and nostrils," I said, "and whatever happens

don't remove it unless I tell you."

"But, Addison...."

"You know the compact, Major? If you aren't prepared to assist I must

ask you to retire. To-night might be the last chance, perhaps, for

years."

Growling beneath his breath, Major Dale obeyed, and, a humorous figure

enough, stretched himself upon the couch, staring at me round-eyed. I

also fastened a handkerchief about my head.

"It would perhaps be better," I said, my voice dimmed by the wet silk,

"if we avoided conversation as much as possible."

Standing up, I rolled back a corner of the carpet, exposing the

floor-planks, and with a brace-and-bit, which I had in my pocket, I

bored a round hole in one of these. Into it I screwed the tube, attached

to a little watch-like contrivance, twisting the face of the dial so

that I could study it from where I proposed to sit. Then I took up my

post, smothering a laugh as I noted the expression upon that part of the

Major's red face which was visible to me.

Thus began the business of that strange night. Half an hour passed in

almost complete silence, save for the audible breathing of the Major--by

no means an ideal companion for such an investigation. But, having

agreed to assist me, in justice to my old friend I must say that he did

his best to stick to the bargain, and to play his part in what obviously

he regarded as an insane comedy.

At about the expiration of this thirty minutes, I thought I heard a door

open somewhere in the house. Listening intently, and glancing at my

companion, I received no confirmation of the idea. Evidently the Major

had heard nothing. Again I thought I heard a sound--as of the rustling

of silk upon the stair, or in an upper corridor; finally I was almost

certain that the floor of the room above (viz. the Major's bedroom)

creaked very slightly.

At that I saw my companion glance upward, then across at me, with a

question in his eyes. But not desiring to disturb the silence, I merely

shook my head.

An hour passed. There had been no repetition of the slight sounds to

which I have referred, and the stillness of Low Fennel was really

extraordinary. A thermometer, which I had placed upon the table near to

my elbow, recorded the fact that the temperature of the room had not

abated a fraction of a point since sunset, and, sitting still though I

was, I found myself bathed in perspiration. Despite the open door and

windows, not a breath of air stirred in the place, but the room was

laden with the oppressive perfume of those night-scented flowers which

I have mentioned elsewhere, for it was faintly perceptible to me,

despite the wet silk.

Once, a bat flew half in at one of the windows, striking its wings

upon the glass, but almost immediately it flew out again. A big moth

fluttered around the room, persistently banging its wings against the

lamp-shade. But nothing else within or without the house stirred, if I

except the occasional restless movements of the Major.

Then all at once--and not gradually as I had anticipated--the meter at

my feet began to register. Instantly, I looked to the thermometer. It

had begun to fall.

I glanced across at Major Dale. He was staring at something which seemed

to have attracted his attention in a distant corner of the room.

Glancing away from the meter, the indicator of which was still moving

upward, I looked in the same direction. There was much shadow there, but

nevertheless I could not doubt that a very faint vapour was forming in

that corner ... rising--rising--rising--slowly higher and higher.

It proceeded from some part of the floor concealed by the big saddle-bag

chair--the Major's favourite dozing-place (probably from a faulty

floor-board), and it was rising visibly, inch upon inch, as I watched,

until it touched the ceiling above. Then, like a column of smoke, it

spread out, mushroom fashion; it crept in ghostly coils along the

cornices, spreading, a dim grey haze, until it obscured a great part of

the ceiling.

Again I looked across at the Major. He was staring at the phenomenon

with eyes which were glassy with amazement. I could see that momentarily

he expected the vapour to take shape, to form into some ghoulish thing

with a contorted face and clutching, outstretched fingers.

But this did not happen. The vapour, which was growing more fine and

imperceptible, began to disperse. I glanced from corner to corner of the

room, then down to the meter on the floor. The indicator was falling

again.

Still I made no move, although I could hear Major Dale fidgeting

nervously, but I looked across at him ... and a dreadful change had come

over his face.

He was sitting upright upon the couch, the edge of which he clutched

with one hand, whilst with the other he combed the air in a gesture

evidently meant to attract my attention. He was trying to speak, but

only a guttural sound issued from his throat. His staring eyes were set

in a glare of stark horror upon the door of the study.

Swiftly I turned--to see the door slowly opening; to see, low down upon

the bare floor--for I had removed the carpet from that corner of the

room--a ghastly, contorted face, held sideways with one ear almost

touching the ground, and with the lower lip and the chin drawn up as

though they were of rubber, almost to the tip of the nose!

The eyes glared up balefully into mine, the hair hung a dishevelled mass

about the face, and I had a glimpse of one bare shoulder pressed upon

the floor.

Wider and wider opened the door; and further into the room crept the

horrible apparition....

The light gleamed equally upon the hideous, contorted face and upon the

rounded shoulders and slim, white arms, on one of which a heavy gold

Oriental bangle was clasped.

It was a woman!

In a flash of inspiration--at sight of the bangle--my doubts were

resolved; _I understood_. Leaning across the table, I extinguished the

lamp ... in the same instant that Major Dale, uttering an inarticulate,

choking cry, sprang to his feet and toppled forward, senseless, upon the

floor!

The study became plunged in darkness, but into the long corridor, beyond

the open door, poured the cold illumination of the moon. Framed in the

portal, uprose a slim figure, seeming like a black silhouette upon a

silvern background, or a wondrous statue in ebony. Elfin, dishevelled

locks crowned the head; the pose of the form was as that of a startled

dryad or a young Bacchante poised for a joyous leap....

Thus, for an instant, like some exquisite dream of Phidias visualised,

the figure stood ... then had fled away down the corridor and was gone!