This was a sentiment I could thoroughly indorse. Mrs. Packard was
certainly an enigma to me. Leaving Ellen to finish her work, I went
upstairs to my own room, and, taking out the scraps of paper I had so
carefully collected, spread them out before me on the lid of the desk.
They were absolutely unintelligible to me--marks and nothing more.
Useless to waste time over such unmeaning scrawls when I had other and
more tangible subjects to consider. But I should not destroy them. There
might come a time when I should be glad to give them the attention which
my present excitement forbade. Putting them back in my desk, I settled
myself into a serious contemplation of the one fact which seemed to
give a partial if not wholly satisfactory explanation of Mrs. Packard’s
peculiar conduct during the last two weeks--her belief that she had been
visited by a specter of an unholy, threatening aspect.
That it was a belief and nothing more seemed sufficiently clear to me in
the cold-blooded analysis to which I now subjected the whole matter.
Phantoms have no place in the economy of nature. That Mrs. Packard
thought herself the victim of one was simply a proof of how deeply,
though perhaps unconsciously, she had been affected by the traditions
of the house. Such sensitiveness in a mind naturally firm and uncommonly
well poised, called for attention. Yet a physician had asserted that
he could do nothing for her. Granting that he was mistaken, would an
interference of so direct and unmistakable a character be wise in the
present highly strung condition of her nerves? I doubted it. It would
show too plainly the light in which we regarded her. I dared not
undertake the responsibility of such a course in Mayor Packard’s
absence. Some other way must be found to quiet her apprehensions and
bring her into harmony again with her surroundings. I knew of only one
course. If the influence of the house had brought on this hallucination,
then the influence of the house must be destroyed. She must be made
to see that, despite its unfortunate reputation, no specter had ever
visited it; that some purely natural cause was at the bottom of the
various manifestations which had successively driven away all previous
tenants.
Could I hope to effect this? It was an undertaking of no small moment.
Had I the necessary judgment? I doubted it, but my ambition was roused.
While Mr. Steele was devoting himself to the discovery of Mayor and
Mrs. Packard’s political enemy, I would essay the more difficult task
of penetrating the mystery threatening their domestic peace. I could but
fail; a few inquiries would assure me of the folly or the wisdom of my
course.
Having reached this point and satisfied myself as to my real duty, I
rose to leave my room for another word or two with Ellen. As I did so
my eyes fell on the shade still drawn between me and the next house. The
impulse to raise it was irresistible. I must see if either of the two
old faces still occupied that gable window. It was not likely. It was
not in ordinary human nature to keep up so unremitting a watch. Yet as
the shade flew up at my touch I realized that my astonishment would
have been great and my expectations altogether disappointed if I had
not encountered the fixed countenance and the set stare with which I
had come to connect this solitary window. Miss Charity was there, and,
though I now knew what underlay her senile, if not utterly mad watch,
the impression made upon me by her hopeless countenance was as keen as
it had ever been, and lent point and impetus to the task I had just set
for myself.
It was apparent that Mrs. Packard had forgotten or changed her mind
about joining me in her own room, but nevertheless I went out,
to discover what possible duties she might have laid out for me.
Ascertaining from Ellen that Mrs. Packard had engagements which would
take her out at noon, I waited for that hour to pass, then excused
myself and went out also.
The owner of the house whose shaded history I was now determined to
learn was John Searles, a real estate agent. To his office in Main
Street I at once proceeded, not without doubts and much inward
trepidation, but buoyed up by the assurance of Mayor Packard’s approval
of any attempt, however far-fetched or unpromising, which held out the
least possibility of relieving Mrs. Packard from her superstitious fears
and restoring the peace and happiness of the household. If only Mr.
Searles should prove to be an approachable man!
I had never seen him or heard him spoken of, or I should not have
encouraged myself with this hope. At my first glimpse of his tall, gaunt
figure, hard features, and brisk impatient movements, I knew that my wit
and equanimity would be put to their full test in the interview.
He was engaged, at my entrance, in some harsh dispute with a couple of
other men, but came forward quickly enough when he saw me. Recognizing
at once that any attempt at ingratiation would fail with this man, I
entered at once upon my errand by asking a question direct enough to
command his attention, if it did not insure the desired reply.
“Mr. Searles, when you purchased the house on Franklin Street, did
you know enough about it to have an answer ready for any one who might
declare it haunted?”
The abruptness of the attack produced its effect. Annoyance swept every
hint of patience from face and manner, and he exclaimed in a tone which
conveyed, only too openly, how disagreeable the subject was to him.
“Again!”
I smiled. It would not do to show how much I felt the total lack of
sympathy in his manner.
“You will have trouble,” said I, “until it is proved that the
occurrences which have provoked this report have a very natural and
quite human source.”
He stopped in his nervous fidgeting and gave me a quick hard look.
“Who are you?” he asked, “and why has Mrs. Packard made you her
messenger instead of coming herself?”
“I am her companion, engaged by Mayor Packard to stay with her during
his contemplated absence. I am here instead of Mrs. Packard because
it is she herself who is the present sufferer from the disagreeable
experiences which attend life in the Franklin Street house.”
“Mrs. Packard?” His tone betrayed a complete incredulity. “Mrs. Packard?
a woman of such strong good sense! I think you must have been misled by
some foolish attempt at humor on her part. Does she know that you have
come to me with this complaint?”
“She does not. She is not in a condition to be consulted on the subject.
I am Mayor Packard’s emissary. He is very anxious about his wife.” Then
as Mr. Searles continued unmoved, I added in a straightforward manner,
and with all the earnestness I felt: “Mrs. Packard believes herself to
have come face to face with an undoubted specter in the library of the
house they have rented from you. She related the circumstances to her
husband and to myself this very morning. It occurred, according to her
story, several days ago; meantime her manner and appearance have shown a
great change. Mayor Packard is not the only one who has noticed it. The
whole household has been struck by her condition, though no one knew its
cause until to-day. Of course, we do not believe in the specter; that
was pure hallucination on her part. This we no more doubt than you do.”
“Then what do you want here?” he asked, after a moment of harsh
scrutiny.
“Proof which will convince her that it was an hallucination and without
the least basis in any spiritual fact,” I returned. “If you will give
me a few minutes of your time, I will explain just what I mean and also
make known to you my wishes. I can wait till you have finished your
business with the gentlemen I see over there.”
He honored me with a look, which for the first time showed any
appreciation of my feelings, and pushing open a door near by, called out
to some one within:
“Here, Robinson, talk with this lady. Her business is not in my line.”
Then, turning to me with a quick, “Step in, Madam,” he left me with the
greatest abruptness and hurried back to the gentlemen awaiting him on
the other side of the room.
I was considerably taken aback by this move, but knew no other course
than to enter the room he had pointed out and pursue my conversation
with whomever I should find there.
Alas! the gentleman who rose at my entrance was also one of the tall,
thin and nervous type. But he was not without heart, like the other, as
was soon made apparent to me. Very few human faces are plainer than the
one I now searched for the encouragement of which I stood in such
sore need, but also very few faces, handsome or otherwise, have the
attraction of so pleasant a smile. Its affable greeting was followed by
the hasty pushing forward of a chair and a kind inquiry as to what he
could do for me.
My answer woke an immediate interest. “My name is Saunders,” I said. “I
am at present an inmate of Mayor Packard’s house--a house belonging to
Mr. Searles, and one which has its drawbacks.”
The meaning look with which I uttered the last sentence called forth an
answering one. A flash of excitement broke over his features and he
cast a quick glance at the door which fortunately had swung to at my
entrance.
“Has--have they--has anything of a disagreeable nature happened to any
one in this house?” he asked with ill-concealed perturbation. “I did not
expect it during their tenantry, but if such has occurred, I am obliged
to Mrs. Packard for letting me know. She promised to, you see, and--”
“She promised!” I cried.
“Yes; in joke no doubt, being at the time in a very incredulous state
of mind. She vowed that she would let me know the very day she saw the
lights or encountered anything in the house, which could be construed
into a spiritual visitation. Has such a manifestation occurred?” he
eagerly inquired. “Has it? has it? Am I to add her name to the list of
those who have found the house uninhabitable?”
“That I am not ready to say,” was my cautious response. “Mrs. Packard,
during the period of her husband’s candidacy, would scarcely wish to
draw public attention to herself or these supernatural happenings by
any such move. I hope that what I say to you on this subject will go no
further.”
“You may rest assured that it will never become public property,” he
assured me. “One person I am bound to tell; but that is all. That person
is too much interested in the house’s good name to spread so damaging a
story. An experience, more or less disagreeable, must have occurred to
some member of the family,” continued Mr. Robinson. “Your presence here
assures me of that. What kind of experience? The--manifestations have
not always been of the same nature.”
“No; and that is what so engages my attention. These experiences differ
so much in their character. Do you happen to know the exact nature of
each? I have a theory which I long to substantiate. May I trust you with
it?”
“You certainly may, Miss. No one has thought over this matter more
earnestly than I have. Not because of any superstitious tendency on my
part; rather from the lack of it. I don’t believe in spirits. I don’t
believe in supernatural agencies of any kind; yet strange things do
happen in that house, things which we find it hard to explain.”
“Mrs. Packard’s experience was this. She believes herself to have
encountered in the library the specter of a man; a specter with a gaze
so terrifying that it impressed itself upon her as an omen of death, or
some other dire disaster. What have your other tenants seen?”
“Shadows mostly; but not always. Sometimes the outline of an arm
projecting out of darkness; sometimes, the trace of steps on the hall
floors, or the discovery in the morning of an open door which had been
carefully closed at bedtime. Once it was the trailing of ghostly fingers
across the sleeper’s face, and once a succession of groans rising from
the lower halls and drawing the whole family from their beds, to find
no one but themselves within the whole four walls. A clearly outlined
phantom has been scarce. But Mrs. Packard has seen one, you say.”
“Thinks she has seen one,” I corrected. “Mayor Packard and myself both
look upon the occurrence as a wholly imaginary one, caused by her secret
brooding over the very manifestations you mention. If she could be
convinced that these manifestations had a physical origin, she would
immediately question the reality of the specter she now believes herself
to have seen. To bring her to this point I am ready to exert myself to
the utmost. Are you willing to do the same? If so, I can assure you of
Mayor Packard’s appreciation.”
“How? What? You believe the whole thing a fraud? That all these
tenants coming from various quarters manufactured all these stories and
submitted to endless inconvenience to perpetuate a senseless lie?”
“No, I don’t think that. The tenants were honest enough, but who owned
the house before Mr. Searles?” I was resolved to give no hint of the
information imparted to me by Mrs. Packard.
“The Misses Quinlan, the two maiden ladies who live next door to Mayor
Packard.”
“I don’t know them,” said I truthfully.
“Very worthy women,” Mr. Robinson assured me. “They are as much
disturbed and as completely puzzled as the rest of us over the
mysterious visitations which have lessened the value of their former
property. They have asked me more than once for an explanation of its
marked unpopularity. I felt foolish to say ghosts, but finally I found
myself forced to do so, much to my lasting regret.”
“How? Why?” I asked, with all the force of a very rapidly increasing
curiosity.
“Because its effect upon them has been so disastrous. They were women of
intelligence previous to this, one of them quite markedly so, but from
that day they have given evidence of mental weakness which can only be
attributed to their continual brooding over this mysterious topic. The
house, whose peculiarities we are now discussing, was once their
family homestead, and they shrink from the reproach of its unfortunate
reputation. What! you don’t think so?” he impetuously asked, moved,
perhaps, by my suggestive silence. “You are suspicious of these two poor
old women? What reason have you for that, Miss Saunders? What motive
could they have for depreciating the value of what was once their own
property?”
So he knew nothing of the lost bonds! Mrs. Packard had made no mistake
when she assured me of the secrecy with which they had endured their
misfortune. It gave me great relief; I could work more safely with this
secret unshared. But the situation called for dissimulation. It was with
anything but real openness that I declared:
“You can not calculate the impulses of an affected mind. Jealousy of the
past may influence these unfortunate women. They possibly hate to see
strangers in the rooms made sacred by old associations.”
“That is possible, but how could they, shut up in a house, separated
from yours by a distance of several feet, be held accountable for the
phenomena observed in 393? There are no means of communication between
the two buildings; even the doors, which once faced each other across
the dividing alley, have been closed up. Interference from them is
impossible.”
“No more impossible than from any other outside source. Is it a fact
that the doors and windows of this strangely haunted house were always
found securely locked after each occurrence of the phenomena you have
mentioned?”
“So I have been told by every tenant I have questioned, and I was
careful to question them, I assure you.”
“That settles the matter in my mind,” I asserted. “These women know of
some means of entrance that has escaped general discovery. Cunning is a
common attribute of the unsettled brain.”
“And they are very cunning. Miss Saunders, you have put a totally new
idea into my head. I do not place much stress upon the motive you have
attributed to them, nor do I see how the appearances noted could have
been produced by these two antiquated women; but the interest they have
displayed in the effect these have had upon others has been of the most
decided nature. They have called here after the departure of every
fresh tenant, and it was all that I could do to answer their persistent
inquiries. It is to them and not to Mr. Searles I feel bound to report
the apparition seen by Mrs. Packard.”
“To them!” I ejaculated in amazement. “Why to them? They no longer have
a proprietary interest in the house.”
“Very true, but they long ago exacted a promise from me to keep a strict
account of such complaints as were raised against the house. They, in
short, paid me to do so. From time to time they have come here to
read this account. It annoys Mr. Searles, but I have had considerable
patience with them for reasons which your kind heart will instantly
suggest.”
I thought of the real pathos of the situation, and how much I might
increase his interest by giving him the full details of their pitiful
history, and the maddening hopes it engendered of a possible discovery
of the treasure they still believed to be hidden in the house. What I
said, however, was this:
“You have kept an account, you say, of the varied phenomena seen in this
house? You have that account now?”
“Yes, Miss Saunders.”
“Let us look it over together. Let us see if it does not give us some
clue to the mystery puzzling us.”
He eyed me doubtfully, or as much so as his great nature would allow.
Meantime, I gauged my man. Was he to be thoroughly and unequivocally
trusted? His very hesitation in face of his undoubted sympathy with me
seemed to insure that he was. At all events, the occasion warranted some
risk on my part. At least I persuaded myself that it did; so without
waiting for his reply, I earnestly remarked:
“The matter is more serious than you suppose. If the mayor were not
unavoidably called away by his political obligations, he would add his
entreaties to mine for a complete sifting of this whole affair.
The Misses Quinlan may very well be innocent of inciting these
manifestations; if so, we can do them no harm by a little confidential
consideration of the affair from the standpoint I have given you. If
they are not, then Mr. Searles and Mayor Packard should know it.”
It appeared to convince him. His homely face shone with the fire of
sudden interest and resolve, and, reaching for a small drawer at the
right of his desk, he opened it and drew forth a folded paper which he
proceeded to open before me with the remark:
“Here is a report that I have kept for my own satisfaction. I do not
feel that in showing it to you I am violating any trust reposed in me by
the Misses Quinlan. I never promised secrecy in the matter.”
I glanced at the paper, all eagerness. He smiled and pushed it toward
me. This is what I read:
First tenant, Mr. Hugh Dennison and family.
Night 1: Heard and saw nothing.
Night 2: The entire household wakened by a scream seemingly
coming from below. This was twice repeated before Mr. Dennison
could reach the hall; the last time in far distant and smothered
tones. Investigation revealed nothing. No person and no trace
of any persons, save themselves, could be found anywhere in the
house. Uncomfortable feelings, but no alarm as yet.
Night 3: No screams, but a sound of groaning in the library.
The tall clock standing near the drawing-room door stopped at
twelve, and a door was found open which Mr. Dennison is sure he
shut tight on retiring. A second unavailing search. One servant
left the next morning.
Night 4: Footfalls on the stairs. The library door, locked by Mr.
Dennison’s own hand, is heard to unclose. The timepiece on the
library mantel-shelf strikes twelve; but it is slightly fast, and
Mr. and Mrs. Dennison, who have crept from their room to the
stair-head, listen breathlessly for the deep boom of the great
hall clock--the one which had stopped the night before. No light
is burning anywhere, and the hall below is a pit of darkness, when
suddenly Mrs. Dennison seizes her husband’s arm and, gasping out,
“The clock, the clock!” falls fainting to the floor. He bends to
look and faintly, in the heart of the shadows, he catches in dim
outline the face of the clock, and reaching up to it a spectral
hand. Nothing else--and in another moment that, too, disappears;
but the silence is something awful--the great clock has stopped.
With a shout he stumbles downward, lights up the hall, lights up
the rooms, but finds nothing, and no one. Next morning the second
servant leaves, but her place is soon supplied by an applicant we
will call Bess.
Night 5: Mrs. Dennison sleeps at a hotel with the children. Mr.
Dennison, revolver in hand, keeps watch on the haunted stairway.
He has fastened up every door and shutter with his own hand, and
with equal care extinguished all lights. As the hour of twelve
approaches, he listens breathlessly. There is certainly a stir
somewhere, but he can not locate it, not quite satisfy himself
whether it is a footfall or a rustle that he hears. The clock
in the library strikes twelve, then the one in the hall gives one
great boom, and stops. Instantly he raises his revolver and
shoots directly at its face. No sound from human lips answers
the discharge of the weapon. In the flash which for a moment has
lighted up the whole place, he catches one glimpse of the broken
dial with its two hands pointing directly at twelve, but nothing
more. Then all is dark again, and he goes slowly back to his own
room.
The next day he threw up his lease.
Second tenant: Mrs. Crispin.
Stayed but one night. Would never tell us what she saw.
Third tenant: Mrs. Southwick. Hires Bess for maid-of-all-work, the
only girl she could get.
Night 1: Unearthly lights shining up through the house, waking
the family. Disappeared as one and all came creeping out into the
hall.
Night 2: The same, followed by deep groans. Children waked and
shrieked.
Night 3: Nothing.
Night 4: Lights, groans and strange shadows on the walls and
ceilings of the various hallways. Family give notice the next day,
but do not leave for a week, owing to sickness. No manifestations
while doctor and nurses are in the house.
House stands vacant for three months. Bess offers to remain in it
as caretaker, but her offer is refused.
Police investigate.
An amusing farce.
One of them saw something and could not be laughed out of it by his
fellows. But the general report was unsatisfactory. The mistake
was the employment of Irishmen in a task involving superstition.
Fourth tenant: Mr. Weston and family.
Remain three weeks. Leaves suddenly because the nurse encountered
something moving about in the lower hall one night when she went
down to the kitchen to procure hot water for a sick child. Bess
again offered her services, but the family would not stay under any
circumstances.
Another long period without tenant.
Mr. Searles tries a night in the empty house. Sits and dozes in
library till two. Wakes suddenly. Door he has tightly shut is
standing open. He feels the draft. Turns on light from dark
lantern. Something is there--a shape--he can not otherwise
describe it. As he stares at it, it vanishes through doorway. He
rushes for it; finds nothing. The hall is empty; so is the whole
house.
This finished the report.
“So Mr. Searles has had his own experiences of these Mysteries!” I
exclaimed.
“As you see. Perhaps that is why he is so touchy on the subject.”
“Did he ever give you any fuller account of his experience than is
detailed here?”
“No; he won’t talk about it.”
“He tried to let the house, however.”
“Yes, but he did not succeed for a long time. Finally the mayor took
it.”
Refolding the paper, I handed it back to Mr. Robinson. I had its
contents well in mind.
“There is one fact to which I should like to call your attention,” said
I. “The manifestations, as here recorded, have all taken place in the
lower part of the house. I should have had more faith in them, if they
had occurred above stairs. There are no outlets through the roof.”
“Nor any visible ones below. At least no visible one was ever found
open.”
“What about the woman, Bess?” I asked. “How do you account for her
persistency in clinging to a place her employers invariably fled from?
She seems to have been always on hand with an offer of her services.”
“Bess is not a young woman, but she is a worker of uncommon ability,
very rigid and very stoical. She herself accounts for her willingness to
work in this house by her utter disbelief in spirits, and the fact that
it is the one place in the world which connects her with her wandering
and worthless husband. Their final parting occurred during Mr.
Dennison’s tenancy, and as she had given the wanderer the Franklin
Street address, you could not reason her out of the belief that on his
return he would expect to find here there. That is what she explained to
Mr. Searles.”
“You interest me, Mr. Robinson. Is she a plain woman? Such a one as a
man would not be likely to return to?”
“No, she is a very good-looking woman, refined and full of character,
but odd, very odd,--in fact, baffling.”
“How baffling?”
“I never knew her to look any one directly in the eye. Her manner is
abstracted and inspires distrust. There is also a marked incongruity
between her employment and her general appearance. She looks out of
place in her working apron, yet she is not what you would call a lady.”
“Did her husband come back?”
“No, not to my knowledge.”
“And where is she now?”
“Very near you, Miss Saunders, when you are at your home in Franklin
Street. Not being able to obtain a situation in the house itself, she
has rented the little shop opposite, where you can find her any day
selling needles and thread.”
“I have noticed that shop,” I admitted, not knowing whether to give more
or less weight to my suspicions in thus finding the mayor’s house under
the continued gaze of another watchful eye.
“You will find two women there,” the amiable Mr. Robinson hastened to
explain. “The one with a dark red spot just under her hair is Bess. But
perhaps she doesn’t interest you. She always has me. If it had not been
for one fact, I should have suspected her of having been in some way
connected with the strange doings we have just been considering. She was
not a member of the household during the occupancy of Mrs. Crispin and
the Westons, yet these unusual manifestations went on just the same.”
“Yes, I noted that.”
“So her connivance is eliminated.”
“Undoubtedly. I am still disposed to credit the Misses Quinlan with the
whole ridiculous business. They could not bear to see strangers in the
house they had once called their own, and took the only means suggested
to their crazy old minds to rid the place of them.”
Mr. Robinson shook his head, evidently unconvinced. The temptation was
great to strengthen my side of the argument by a revelation of their
real motive. Once acquainted with the story of the missing bonds he
could not fail to see the extreme probability that the two sisters,
afflicted as they were with dementia, should wish to protect the wealth
which was once so near their grasp, from the possibility of discovery by
a stranger. But I dared not take him quite yet into my full confidence.
Indeed, the situation did not demand it. I had learned from him what I
was most anxious to know, and was now in a position to forward my own
projects without further aid from him. Almost as if he had read my
thoughts, Mr. Robinson now hastened to remark:
“I find it difficult to credit these poor old souls with any such
elaborate plan to empty the house, even had they possessed the most
direct means of doing so, for no better reason than this one you state.
Had money been somehow involved, or had they even thought so, it would
be different. They are a little touched in the head on the subject of
money; which isn’t very strange considering their present straits. They
even show an interest in other people’s money. They have asked me more
than once if any of their former neighbors have seemed to grow more
prosperous since leaving Franklin Street.”
“I see; touched, touched!” I laughed, rising in my anxiety to hide any
show of feeling at the directness of this purely accidental attack. But
the item struck me as an important one. Mr. Robinson gave me a keen look
as I uttered the usual commonplaces and prepared to take my leave.
“May I ask your intentions in this matter?” said he.
“I wish I knew them myself,” was my perfectly candid answer. “It strikes
me now that my first step should be to ascertain whether there exists
any secret connection between the two houses which would enable the
Misses Quinlan or their emissaries to gain access to their old home,
without ready detection. I know of none, and--”
“There is none,” broke in its now emphatic agent. “A half-dozen tenants,
to say nothing of Mr. Searles himself, have looked it carefully over.
All the walls are intact; there is absolutely no opening anywhere for
surreptitious access.”
“Possibly not. You certainly discourage me very much. I had hoped much
from my theory. But we are not done with the matter. Mrs. Packard’s mind
must be cleared of its fancies, if it is in my power to do it. You will
hear from me again, Mr. Robinson. Meanwhile, I may be sure of your good
will?”
“Certainly, certainly, and of my cooperation also, if you want it.”
“Thank you,” said I, and left the office.
His last look was one of interest not untinged by compassion.