Close upon a month had elapsed. Major Dale and I sat in my study in
London.
"Young Aubrey Wales has gone abroad," I said. "He's ashamed to show up
again, I suppose."
"H'm!" growled the Major--"I've got nothing to crow about, myself,
by the Lord Harry! There's courage and courage, sir! I've led more
than one bayonet attack, but I'd never qualify for the D.S.O. as a
ghost-hunter!--never, by Gad!--never!"
He reached out for the decanter; then withdrew his hand. "Doctor's
orders," he muttered. "Discipline must be maintained!"
"It was the sudden excitement which precipitated the seizure," I said,
glancing at the altered face of my old friend. "I was wrong to expose
you to it; but of course I did not know that the doctor had warned you."
"And now," said the Major, sighing loudly as he filled his tumbler with
plain soda-water--"what have you to tell me?"
"In the first place--have you definitely decided to leave Low Fennel,
for good?"
"Certainly--not a doubt on the point! We're leasing a flat in town here
whilst we look around."
"Good! Because I very much doubt if the place could ever be rendered
tenable...."
"Then it's really haunted?"
"Undoubtedly."
"By what, Addison? Tell me that!--by what?"
"By a grey vapour."