nonsense the more he gave way to it. Even Ted thought it was going too
far, and tried to interfere when he put his arm round Mrs. Jennings's
waist and made 'er dance to a piano-organ; but there was no stopping
'im, and at last Mrs. Jennings said she had 'ad enough of it, and told
Emma she was going off 'ome.
'He Put his Arm Round Mrs. Jennings's Waist and Made 'er Dance to a
Piano-organ.'
“Don't take no notice of 'im,” ses Emma.
“I must,” ses Mrs. Jennings, who was arf crying with rage.
“Well, if you go 'ome, I shall go,” ses Emma. “I don't want 'is company.
I believe he's doing it on purpose.
“Behave yourself, Charlie,” ses Ted.
“All right, old man,” ses Charlie. “You look arter your young woman and
I'll look arter mine.”
“Your wot?” ses Mrs. Jennings, very loud.
“My young woman,” ses Charlie.
“Look 'ere,” ses Emma. “You may as well know first as last—Sophy 'as got
a young man.”
“O' course she 'as,” ses Charlie. “Twenty-seven on the second of next
January, he is; same as me.”
“She's going to be married,” ses Emma, very solemn.
“Yes, to me,” ses Charlie, pretending to be surprised. “Didn't you know
that?”
He looked so pleased with 'imself at his cleverness that Emma arf put up
her 'and, and then she thought better of it and turned away.
“He's just doing it to get rid of you,” she ses to Mrs. Jennings, “and
if you give way you're a bigger silly than I took you for. Let 'im go on
and 'ave his own way, and tell your intended about 'im when you see 'im.
Arter all, you started it.”
“I was only 'aving a bit o' fun,” ses Mrs. Jennings.
“Well, so is he,” ses Emma.
“Not me!” ses Charlie, turning his eyes up. “I'm in dead earnest; and so
is she. It's only shyness on 'er part; it'll soon wear off.”
He took 'old of Mrs. Jennings's arm agin and began to tell 'er 'ow
lonely 'is life was afore she came acrost his path like an angel that
had lost its way. And he went on like that till she told Emma that she'd
either 'ave to go off 'ome or scream. Ted interfered agin then, and,
arter listening to wot he 'ad got to say, Charlie said as 'ow he'd try
and keep his love under control a bit more.
“She won't stand much more of it,” he ses to Ted, arter they 'ad
got 'ome that night. “I shouldn't be surprised if she don't turn up
to-morrow.”
Ted shook his 'ead. “She'll turn up to oblige Emma,” he ses; “but
there's no need for you to overdo it, Charlie. If her young man 'appened
to get to 'ear of it it might cause trouble.”
“I ain't afraid of 'im,” ses Charlie, “not if your description of 'im is
right.”
“Emma knows 'im,” ses Ted, “and I know she don't think much of 'im. She
says he ain't as big as I am.”
Charlie smiled to himself and laid awake for a little while thinking
of pet names to surprise Mrs. Jennings with. He called 'er a fresh one
every night for a week, and every night he took 'er a little bunch o'
flowers with 'is love. When she flung 'em on the pavement he pretended
to think she 'ad dropped 'em; but, do wot he would, 'e couldn't frighten
'er into staying away, and 'is share of music-'alls and bus rides and
things like that was more than 'e cared to think of. All the time Ted
was as happy as a sand-boy, and one evening when Emma asked 'im to go
'ome to supper 'e was so pleased 'e could 'ardly speak.
“Father thought he'd like to see you,” ses Emma. “I shall be proud to
shake 'im by the 'and,” ses Ted, going red with joy.
“And you're to come, too, Sophy,” ses Emma, turning to Mrs. Jennings.
Charlie coughed, feeling a bit orkard-like, and Emma stood there as if
waiting for 'im to go.
“Well, so long,” ses Charlie at last. “Take care o' my little prize
packet.”
“You can come, too, if you like,” ses Emma. “Father said I was to bring
you. Don't 'ave none of your nonsense there, that's all.”
Charlie thanked 'er, and they was all walking along, him and Mrs.
Jennings behind, when Emma looked over 'er shoulder.
“Sophy's young man is coming,” she ses.
“Ho!” ses Charlie. He walked along doing a bit o' thinking, and by and
by 'e gives a little laugh, and he ses, “I—I don't think p'r'aps I'll
come arter all.”
“Afraid?” ses Emma, with a nasty laugh.
“No,” ses Charlie.
“Well, it looks like it,” ses Emma.
“He's brave enough where wimmen are concerned,” ses Mrs. Jennings.
“I was thinking of you,” ses Charlie.
“You needn't trouble about me,” ses Mrs. Jennings. “I can look after
myself, thank you.”
Charlie looked round, but there was no help for it. He got as far away
from Mrs. Jennings as possible, and when they got to Emma's house he
went in last.
Emma's father and mother was there and two or three of 'er brothers and
sisters, but the fust thing that Charlie noticed was a great lump of a
man standing by the mantelpiece staring at 'im.
“Come in, and make yourselves at 'ome,” ses Mr. White. “I'm glad to see
you both. Emma 'as told me all about you.”
Charlie's 'art went down into 'is boots, but every-body was so busy
drawing their chairs up to the table that they didn't notice 'ow pale
he 'ad gone. He sat between Mr. White and Mrs. Jennings, and by and by,
when everybody was talking, he turned to 'im in a whisper, and asked 'im
who the big chap was.
“Mrs. Jennings's brother,” ses Mr. White; “brewer's drayman he is.”
Charlie said, “Oh!” and went on eating, a bit relieved in 'is mind.
“Your friend and my gal 'll make a nice couple,” ses Mr. White, looking
at Ted and Emma, sitting 'and in 'and.
“She couldn't 'ave a better husband,” ses Charlie, whispering again;
“but where is Mrs. Jennings's young man? I 'eard he was to be here.”
Mr. White put down 'is knife and fork. “Eh?” he ses, staring at 'im.
“Mrs. Jennings's intended?” ses Charlie.
“Who are you getting at?” ses Mr. White, winking at 'im.
“But she 'as got one, ain't she?” ses Charlie. “That'll do,” ses Mr.
White, with another wink. “Try it on somebody else.”
“Wot are you two talking about?” ses Emma, who 'ad been watching 'em.
“He's trying to pull my leg,” ses 'er father, smiling all over his face.
“Been asking me where Mrs. Jennings's young man is. P'r'aps you oughtn't
to 'ave told us yet, Emma.”
“It's all right,” ses Emma. “He's got a very jealous disposition, poor
fellow; and me and Sophy have been telling 'im about a young man just
to tease 'im. We've been describing him to 'imself all along, and he
thought it was somebody else.”
She caught Charlie's eye, and all in a flash he saw 'ow he 'ad been
done. Some of 'em began to laugh, and Mrs. Jennings put her 'and on his
and gave it a squeeze. He sat there struck all of a heap, wondering wot
he was going to do, and just at that moment there was a knock at the
street door.
“I'll open it,” he ses.
He jumped up before anybody could stop 'im and went to the door. Two
seconds arter Ted Denver followed 'im, and that is last he ever saw of
Charlie Brice, he was running down the road without 'is hat as hard as
he could run.
'He Was Running Down the Road Without 'is Hat As Hard As He Could Run.'
“THE TOLL-HOUSE”
“It's all nonsense,” said Jack Barnes. “Of course people have died in
the house; people die in every house. As for the noises—wind in the
chimney and rats in the wainscot are very convincing to a nervous man.
Give me another cup of tea, Meagle.”
“Lester and White are first,” said Meagle, who was presiding at the
tea-table of the Three Feathers Inn. “You've had two.”
Lester and White finished their cups with irritating slowness, pausing
between sips to sniff the aroma, and to discover the sex and dates
of arrival of the “strangers” which floated in some numbers in the
beverage. Mr. Meagle served them to the brim, and then, turning to
the grimly expectant Mr. Barnes, blandly requested him to ring for hot
water.
“We'll try and keep your nerves in their present healthy condition,”
he remarked. “For my part I have a sort of half-and-half belief in the
super-natural.”
“All sensible people have,” said Lester. “An aunt of mine saw a ghost
once.”
White nodded.
“I had an uncle that saw one,” he said.
“It always is somebody else that sees them,” said Barnes.
“Well, there is a house,” said Meagle, “a large house at an absurdly low
rent, and nobody will take it. It has taken toll of at least one life
of every family that has lived there—however short the time—and since
it has stood empty caretaker after caretaker has died there. The last
caretaker died fifteen years ago.”
“Exactly,” said Barnes. “Long enough ago for legends to accumulate.”
“I'll bet you a sovereign you won't spend the night there alone, for all
your talk,” said White, suddenly.
“And I,” said Lester.
“No,” said Barnes slowly. “I don't believe in ghosts nor in any
supernatural things whatever; all the same I admit that I should not
care to pass a night there alone.”
“But why not?” inquired White.
“Wind in the chimney,” said Meagle with a grin.
“Rats in the wainscot,” chimed in Lester.
“As you like,” said Barnes coloring.
“Suppose we all go,” said Meagle. “Start after supper, and get
there about eleven. We have been walking for ten days now without an
adventure—except Barnes's discovery that ditchwater smells longest.
It will be a novelty, at any rate, and, if we break the spell by all
surviving, the grateful owner ought to come down handsome.”
“Let's see what the landlord has to say about it first,” said Lester.
“There is no fun in passing a night in an ordinary empty house. Let us
make sure that it is haunted.”
He rang the bell, and, sending for the landlord, appealed to him in the
name of our common humanity not to let them waste a night watching in a
house in which spectres and hobgoblins had no part. The reply was more
than reassuring, and the landlord, after describing with considerable
art the exact appearance of a head which had been seen hanging out of a
window in the moonlight, wound up with a polite but urgent request that
they would settle his bill before they went.
“It's all very well for you young gentlemen to have your fun,” he
said indulgently; “but supposing as how you are all found dead in the
morning, what about me? It ain't called the Toll-House for nothing, you
know.”
“Who died there last?” inquired Barnes, with an air of polite derision.
“A tramp,” was the reply. “He went there for the sake of half a crown,
and they found him next morning hanging from the balusters, dead.”
“Suicide,” said Barnes. “Unsound mind.”
The landlord nodded. “That's what the jury brought it in,” he said
slowly; “but his mind was sound enough when he went in there. I'd known
him, off and on, for years. I'm a poor man, but I wouldn't spend the
night in that house for a hundred pounds.”
'I'm a Poor Man, But I Wouldn't Spend the Night in That House for a
Hundred Pounds.'
He repeated this remark as they started on their expedition a few
hours later. They left as the inn was closing for the night; bolts
shot noisily behind them, and, as the regular customers trudged slowly
homewards, they set off at a brisk pace in the direction of the house.
Most of the cottages were already in darkness, and lights in others went
out as they passed.
“It seems rather hard that we have got to lose a night's rest in order
to convince Barnes of the existence of ghosts,” said White.
“It's in a good cause,” said Meagle. “A most worthy object; and
something seems to tell me that we shall succeed. You didn't forget the
candles, Lester?”
“I have brought two,” was the reply; “all the old man could spare.”
There was but little moon, and the night was cloudy. The road between
high hedges was dark, and in one place, where it ran through a wood, so
black that they twice stumbled in the uneven ground at the side of it.
“Fancy leaving our comfortable beds for this!” said White again. “Let
me see; this desirable residential sepulchre lies to the right, doesn't
it?”
“Farther on,” said Meagle.
They walked on for some time in silence, broken only by White's tribute
to the softness, the cleanliness, and the comfort of the bed which was
receding farther and farther into the distance. Under Meagle's guidance
they turned off at last to the right, and, after a walk of a quarter of
a mile, saw the gates of the house before them.
'They Saw the Gates of The House Before Them.'
The lodge was almost hidden by overgrown shrubs and the drive was choked
with rank growths. Meagle leading, they pushed through it until the dark
pile of the house loomed above them.
“There is a window at the back where we can get in, so the landlord
says,” said Lester, as they stood before the hall door.
“Window?” said Meagle. “Nonsense. Let's do the thing properly. Where's
the knocker?”
He felt for it in the darkness and gave a thundering rat-tat-tat at the
door.
“Don't play the fool,” said Barnes crossly.
“Ghostly servants are all asleep,” said Meagle gravely, “but I'll wake
them up before I've done with them. It's scandalous keeping us out here
in the dark.”
He plied the knocker again, and the noise volleyed in the emptiness
beyond. Then with a sudden exclamation he put out his hands and stumbled
forward.
“Why, it was open all the time,” he said, with an odd catch in his
voice. “Come on.”
“I don't believe it was open,” said Lester, hanging back. “Somebody is
playing us a trick.”
“Nonsense,” said Meagle sharply. “Give me a candle. Thanks. Who's got a
match?”
Barnes produced a box and struck one, and Meagle, shielding the candle
with his hand, led the way forward to the foot of the stairs. “Shut the
door, somebody,” he said, “there's too much draught.”
“It is shut,” said White, glancing behind him.
Meagle fingered his chin. “Who shut it?” he inquired, looking from one
to the other. “Who came in last?”
“I did,” said Lester, “but I don't remember shutting it—perhaps I did,
though.”
Meagle, about to speak, thought better of it, and, still carefully
guarding the flame, began to explore the house, with the others close
behind. Shadows danced on the walls and lurked in the corners as they
proceeded. At the end of the passage they found a second staircase, and
ascending it slowly gained the first floor.
“Careful!” said Meagle, as they gained the landing.
He held the candle forward and showed where the balusters had broken
away. Then he peered curiously into the void beneath.
“This is where the tramp hanged himself, I suppose,” he said
thoughtfully.
“You've got an unwholesome mind,” said White, as they walked on. “This
place is quite creepy enough without your remembering that. Now let's
find a comfortable room and have a little nip of whiskey apiece and a
pipe. How will this do?”
He opened a door at the end of the passage and revealed a small square
room. Meagle led the way with the candle, and, first melting a drop or
two of tallow, stuck it on the mantelpiece. The others seated themselves
on the floor and watched pleasantly as White drew from his pocket a
small bottle of whiskey and a tin cup.
“H'm! I've forgotten the water,” he exclaimed.
“I'll soon get some,” said Meagle.
He tugged violently at the bell-handle, and the rusty jangling of a bell
sounded from a distant kitchen. He rang again.
“Don't play the fool,” said Barnes roughly.
Meagle laughed. “I only wanted to convince you,” he said kindly. “There
ought to be, at any rate, one ghost in the servants' hall.”
Barnes held up his hand for silence.
“Yes?” said Meagle with a grin at the other two. “Is anybody coming?”
“Suppose we drop this game and go back,” said Barnes suddenly. “I don't
believe in spirits, but nerves are outside anybody's command. You may
laugh as you like, but it really seemed to me that I heard a door open
below and steps on the stairs.”
His voice was drowned in a roar of laughter.
“He is coming round,” said Meagle with a smirk. “By the time I have done
with him he will be a confirmed believer. Well, who will go and get some
water? Will you, Barnes?”
“No,” was the reply.
“If there is any it might not be safe to drink after all these years,”
said Lester. “We must do without it.”
Meagle nodded, and taking a seat on the floor held out his hand for the
cup. Pipes were lit and the clean, wholesome smell of tobacco filled the
room. White produced a pack of cards; talk and laughter rang through the
room and died away reluctantly in distant corridors.
“Empty rooms always delude me into the belief that I possess a deep
voice,” said Meagle. “To-morrow——”
He started up with a smothered exclamation as the light went out
suddenly and something struck him on the head. The others sprang to
their feet. Then Meagle laughed.
“It's the candle,” he exclaimed. “I didn't stick it enough.”
Barnes struck a match and relighting the candle stuck it on the
mantelpiece, and sitting down took up his cards again.
“What was I going to say?” said Meagle. “Oh, I know; to-morrow I——”
“Listen!” said White, laying his hand on the other's sleeve. “Upon my
word I really thought I heard a laugh.”
“Look here!” said Barnes. “What do you say to going back? I've had
enough of this. I keep fancying that I hear things too; sounds of
something moving about in the passage outside. I know it's only fancy,
but it's uncomfortable.”
“You go if you want to,” said Meagle, “and we will play dummy. Or you
might ask the tramp to take your hand for you, as you go downstairs.”
Barnes shivered and exclaimed angrily. He got up and, walking to the
half-closed door, listened.
“Go outside,” said Meagle, winking at the other two. “I'll dare you to
go down to the hall door and back by yourself.”
Barnes came back and, bending forward, lit his pipe at the candle.
“I am nervous but rational,” he said, blowing out a thin cloud of smoke.
“My nerves tell me that there is something prowling up and down the long
passage outside; my reason tells me that it is all nonsense. Where are
my cards?”
He sat down again, and taking up his hand, looked through it carefully
and led.
“Your play, White,” he said after a pause. White made no sign.
“Why, he is asleep,” said Meagle. “Wake up, old man. Wake up and play.”
Lester, who was sitting next to him, took the sleeping man by the arm
and shook him, gently at first and then with some roughness; but White,
with his back against the wall and his head bowed, made no sign. Meagle
bawled in his ear and then turned a puzzled face to the others.
“He sleeps like the dead,” he said, grimacing. “Well, there are still
three of us to keep each other company.”
“Yes,” said Lester, nodding. “Unless—Good Lord! suppose——”
He broke off and eyed them trembling.
“Suppose what?” inquired Meagle.
“Nothing,” stammered Lester. “Let's wake him. Try him again. White!
White!”
“It's no good,” said Meagle seriously; “there's something wrong about
that sleep.”
“That's what I meant,” said Lester; “and if he goes to sleep like that,
why shouldn't——”
Meagle sprang to his feet. “Nonsense,” he said roughly. “He's tired out;
that's all. Still, let's take him up and clear out. You take his legs
and Barnes will lead the way with the candle. Yes? Who's that?”
He looked up quickly towards the door. “Thought I heard somebody tap,”
he said with a shamefaced laugh. “Now, Lester, up with him. One, two—
Lester! Lester!”
He sprang forward too late; Lester, with his face buried in his arms,
had rolled over on the floor fast asleep, and his utmost efforts failed
to awaken him.
“He—is—asleep,” he stammered. “Asleep!”
Barnes, who had taken the candle from the mantel-piece, stood peering at
the sleepers in silence and dropping tallow over the floor.
'Barnes, Stood Peering at the Sleepers in Silence And Dropping Tallow
over the Floor.'
“We must get out of this,” said Meagle. “Quick!” Barnes hesitated. “We
can't leave them here—” he began.
“We must,” said Meagle in strident tones. “If you go to sleep I shall
go—Quick! Come.”
He seized the other by the arm and strove to drag him to the door.
Barnes shook him off, and putting the candle back on the mantelpiece,
tried again to arouse the sleepers.
“It's no good,” he said at last, and, turning from them, watched Meagle.
“Don't you go to sleep,” he said anxiously.
Meagle shook his head, and they stood for some time in uneasy silence.
“May as well shut the door,” said Barnes at last.
He crossed over and closed it gently. Then at a scuffling noise behind
him he turned and saw Meagle in a heap on the hearthstone.
With a sharp catch in his breath he stood motionless. Inside the room
the candle, fluttering in the draught, showed dimly the grotesque
attitudes of the sleepers. Beyond the door there seemed to his
over-wrought imagination a strange and stealthy unrest. He tried to
whistle, but his lips were parched, and in a mechanical fashion he
stooped, and began to pick up the cards which littered the floor.
He stopped once or twice and stood with bent head listening. The unrest
outside seemed to increase; a loud creaking sounded from the stairs.
“Who is there?” he cried loudly.
The creaking ceased. He crossed to the door and flinging it open, strode
out into the corridor. As he walked his fears left him suddenly.
“Come on!” he cried with a low laugh. “All of you! All of you! Show your
faces—your infernal ugly faces! Don't skulk!”
He laughed again and walked on; and the heap in the fireplace put out
his head tortoise fashion and listened in horror to the retreating
footsteps. Not until they had become inaudible in the distance did the
listeners' features relax.
“Good Lord, Lester, we've driven him mad,” he said in a frightened
whisper. “We must go after him.”
There was no reply. Meagle sprung to his feet. “Do you hear?” he cried.
“Stop your fooling now; this is serious. White! Lester! Do you hear?”
He bent and surveyed them in angry bewilderment. “All right,” he said in
a trembling voice. “You won't frighten me, you know.”
He turned away and walked with exaggerated carelessness in the direction
of the door. He even went outside and peeped through the crack, but the
sleepers did not stir. He glanced into the blackness behind, and then
came hastily into the room again.
He stood for a few seconds regarding them. The stillness in the house
was horrible; he could not even hear them breathe. With a sudden
resolution he snatched the candle from the mantelpiece and held the
flame to White's finger. Then as he reeled back stupefied the footsteps
again became audible.
He stood with the candle in his shaking hand listening. He heard them
ascending the farther staircase, but they stopped suddenly as he went
to the door. He walked a little way along the passage, and they went
scurrying down the stairs and then at a jog-trot along the corridor
below. He went back to the main staircase, and they ceased again.
For a time he hung over the balusters, listening and trying to pierce
the blackness below; then slowly, step by step, he made his way
downstairs, and, holding the candle above his head, peered about him.
“Barnes!” he called. “Where are you?” Shaking with fright, he made his
way along the passage, and summoning up all his courage pushed open
doors and gazed fearfully into empty rooms. Then, quite suddenly, he
heard the footsteps in front of him.
He followed slowly for fear of extinguishing the candle, until they led
him at last into a vast bare kitchen with damp walls and a broken floor.
In front of him a door leading into an inside room had just closed. He
ran towards it and flung it open, and a cold air blew out the candle. He
stood aghast.
'Into a Vast Bare Kitchen With Damp Walls and A Broken Floor.'
“Barnes!” he cried again. “Don't be afraid! It is I—Meagle!”
There was no answer. He stood gazing into the darkness, and all the time
the idea of something close at hand watching was upon him. Then suddenly
the steps broke out overhead again.
He drew back hastily, and passing through the kitchen groped his way
along the narrow passages. He could now see better in the darkness, and
finding himself at last at the foot of the staircase began to ascend
it noiselessly. He reached the landing just in time to see a figure
disappear round the angle of a wall. Still careful to make no noise, he
followed the sound of the steps until they led him to the top floor, and
he cornered the chase at the end of a short passage.
“Barnes!” he whispered. “Barnes!”
Something stirred in the darkness. A small circular window at the end of
the passage just softened the blackness and revealed the dim outlines
of a motionless figure. Meagle, in place of advancing, stood almost as
still as a sudden horrible doubt took possession of him. With his eyes
fixed on the shape in front he fell back slowly and, as it advanced upon
him, burst into a terrible cry.
“Barnes! For God's sake! Is it you?”
The echoes of his voice left the air quivering, but the figure before
him paid no heed. For a moment he tried to brace his courage up to
endure its approach, then with a smothered cry he turned and fled.
The passages wound like a maze, and he threaded them blindly in a vain
search for the stairs. If he could get down and open the hall door——