THE HAUNTED HOUSE
Next day was a Saint’s Day, which you had to yourself in the good old
times from chapel in the early forenoon till private work after tea. Jan
had just come out of chapel, and was blinking in the bright spring
sunlight, when of a sudden his blood throbbed more than the Mile had
made it. Evan Devereux had broken away from some boon companions, and
was gaily smiling in Jan’s path.
“I say, I do congratulate you on yesterday! Everybody’s talking about
it. I meant to speak to you before. That’s the worst of being in
different houses; we never see anything of each other, even now we’re in
the same form.”
The boy is an artless animal; here were two, and the second simpleton
outshining the first in beams of pure good-will.
“That can’t be helped,” said Jan, with intentionally reassuring
cordiality, so that Master Evan should not think he was, or possibly
could have been, offended for a single instant.
“Still, I don’t see why we shouldn’t help it for once,” responded Evan,
looking the other rather frankly up and down. “There’s nothing on this
morning, except the final of the School Fives, is there? Why shouldn’t
we go for a stroll together?”
Darkness descended upon beaming Jan like funeral pall on festal board.
“I—I—I’d promised another chap,” he almost groaned, with equal loyalty
and reluctance.
“What other chap?”
Was it contempt in Evan’s tone, or merely disappointment?
“Carpenter in our house.”
“Chips Carpenter! I know him well; we were at the same old school before
this. I never see enough of him either. Let’s all go together.”
But Jan was not through his difficulty yet. “We were going to the
haunted house,” he explained in a lower key. “It’s an old arrangement.”
“The haunted house!” exclaimed Evan in a half-tone between approval and
disapproval. “I never heard of one here.”
“It’s a couple of miles away. They only say it’s haunted. We thought
we’d have a look and see.”
“But is it in bounds?” inquired Evan, with some anxiety.
“I should hope so,” replied Jan, unscrupulously. “But here’s Chips; you
ask him.”
Devereux, however, despite his law-abiding instincts, was not the one to
draw back when two were for going on. He was an excitable boy with a
fund of high spirits, but not an infinity; they ran out sometimes when
least expected. This morning, however, he was at his best, and
incomparably better company than either of his companions. Jan was shy
and awkward, though his soul sang with pride and pleasure. But Chips the
articulate, Chips the loquacious, Chips the irrepressible in congenial
company, had least of all to say, except in the bitterness of his own
heart against the boy who had usurped his place.
“He’s hardly spoken to either of us,” Chips was saying to himself,
“since the very beginning of our first term; and I should like to have
seen him now, if the Tiger hadn’t finished fourth in the Mile!”
The worst of the enthusiastic temperament is that it lends itself to
cynicism almost as readily, and _vice versa_ as in Jan’s case now. Jan
also had felt often very bitter about Evan, if not exactly against him,
yet here he was basking in the boy’s first tardy and almost mercenary
smile. But Jan’s case was peculiar, as we know; and everything nice had
come together, filling his empty cup to overflowing. He might despise
public-school traditions as much as he pretended for Chips’s benefit,
but he was too honest to affect indifference to his little _succès
d’estime_ of the day before. He knew it was not little for his age. He
would have confessed it some consolation for being at school against his
will—but it was not against his will that he was walking with Master
Evan on equal terms this fine spring morning. He had always seen that
the making or the marring of his school life lay in Evan’s power. It had
not been marred as it might have been by a cruel or a thoughtless
tongue; it might still be made by kind words and even an occasional show
of equality by one whom Jan never treated as an equal in his thoughts.
He was nervous as they trod the hilly roads, but he was intensely happy.
Spring was in the bold blue sky, and in the hedgerows faintly sprayed
with green—less faintly if you looked at them aslant—and in Jan’s
heart too. Spring birds were singing, and Evan bubbling like a brook
with laughter and talk of home and the holidays that Jan knew all about;
yet never a word to let poor Chips into the secret of their old
relations, or even to set him wondering. Any indiscretion of that sort
was by way of falling from Jan himself.
“Do you ever see the Miss Christies now?” he had inadvertently inquired.
“The Christies!” Evan exclaimed, emphatically, and not without a
sidelong glance at Carpenter. “Oh, yes, the girls skated on our pond all
last holidays. Phyllis can do the outside edge backwards.”
“She would,” said Jan. “I doubt you’re too big for Fanny now?”
Fanny had been Evan’s pony, on which he had ridden a great deal with his
friends the Christies; hence the somewhat dangerous association of
ideas. He said he now rode one of the horses, when he rode at all. His
tone closed that side of the subject.
“Do you remember how you used to hoist a flag, the first day of the
holidays, to let the young—to let the girls know you’d got back?”
Evan turned to Carpenter with a forced laugh. “All these early
recollections must be pretty boring for you,” said he. “But this chap
and I used to know each other at home.”
“I wish we did now,” said Jan. “There’s nobody to speak to down in
Norfolk.”
“Except R. N. Ambrose,” put in Chips, dryly. “I suppose you know that’s
his uncle?”
Devereux did not know it, and the information was opportune in every
way. It reminded him that Mrs. Rutter had been a lady, and it reminded
Jan himself that all his people had not sprung from the stables. It made
him distinctly less liable to say “the Miss Christies” or “Master Evan.”
Above all it introduced the general topic of cricket, in which Chips and
his statistics got a chance at last, so that in argument alone a mile
went like the wind. Chips could have gained full marks in any paper set
on the row of green and red booklets in his shelves. He was a staunch
upholder of Middlesex cricket, but Jan and Evan were Yorkshire to the
marrow, and one of them at least was glad to be heart and soul with the
other in the discussion that followed. It was not a little heated as
between Carpenter and Devereux and it lasted the trio until they tramped
almost into the straggling and deserted street of the village famous for
its haunted house.
“I suppose it’s at the other end of the village. We shan’t see it yet a
bit.”
Jan spoke with the bated breath and sparkling eye of the born
adventurer; and Chips whispered volubly of ghosts in general; but Evan
Devereux became silent for the first time. He was the smallest of the
three boys, but much the most attractive, with his clean-cut features,
his auburn hair, and that clear, radiant, tell-tale skin which even now
was saying something that he found difficult to put into so many words.
“Aren’t haunted houses rather rot?”
Such was his first attempt.
“Rather _not_!” cried Chips, the Tiger concurring on appeal.
“Still, it strikes me we’re bound to be seen, and it seems rather a
rotten sort of row to get into.”
Carpenter was amused at the ostensible superiority of this view. It was
hardly consistent with a further access of colour for which Chips was
waiting before it came. He knew Devereux of old at their private school,
and that what he hated above all else was getting into a row of any
description. Jan might have known it, too, by the pains he took to
reduce the adverse chances to decimals. Nobody was about, to see them;
nobody who did would dream of reporting chaps; but for that matter, now
there were three of them, one could keep watch while the other two
explored. The house was no better than an empty ruin, if all Jan had
heard was true, but they must have a look for themselves now that they
were there. It was one of the two things worth doing at that school, let
alone the games, and you had to go in for them, whether you liked them
or not.
“What’s the other thing?” asked Evan, with a bit of a sneer, as became
one who had been longer in the school and apparently learnt less.
“Molton Tunnel.”
“Yes, I have heard of that. Some fellows are fool enough to walk through
it, aren’t they?”
“Some who happen to have the pluck,” said Chips, taking the answer on
himself. “There aren’t too many.”
“Are you one?” inquired sarcastic Evan.
“No; but _he_ is,” returned Chips, with a jerk of the head towards Jan.
“I turned tail at the last.”
“Don’t you believe him,” says Jan, grinning. “I wouldn’t take him with
me; he’s too blind, is Chips. Wait till he starts specs; then I’ll take
you both if you like. There’s nothing in it. You can see one end or the
other half your time; it’s only a short bit where you can’t see either,
and then you can feel your way. But by gum it makes you mucky!”
“It’d make you muckier if you met a train,” Evan suggested, with a sly
stress on Jan’s epithet.
“But I didn’t, you see.”
“You jolly nearly did,” Chips would have it. “The express came through
the minute after he did, Devereux.”
“Not the minute, nor yet the five minutes,” protested Jan. “But here we
are at the end of the village, and if that isn’t the haunted house I’ll
eat my cap!”
It stood behind a row of tall iron palings, which stand there still, but
the deadly little flat-faced villa was pulled down years ago, and no
other habitation occupies its site. The garden was a little wilderness
even as the three boys first saw it through the iron palings. But a
million twigs with emerald tips quivered with joy in the breezy
sunshine. It was no day for ghosts. The house, however, in less
inspiriting circumstances, might well have lent itself to evil
tradition. Its windows were foul and broken, and some of them still
flaunted the draggled remnants of old futile announcements of a sale by
auction. Its paint was bleached all over, and bloated in hideous spots;
mould and discoloration held foul revel from roof-tree to doorstep; the
whole fabric cried for destruction, as the dead for burial.
“I doubt they won’t have got much of a bid,” said Jan, pointing out the
placards. “Yet it must have been a tidy little place in its day.”
He had forced the sunken gate through the weedy path, and was first
within the disreputable precincts. Evan was peering up and down the
empty road, and Chips was watching Evan with interest.
“I shouldn’t come in,” said Chips, “if I were you, Devereux.”
“Why not?” demanded Evan, with instantaneous heat.
“Well, it is really out of bounds, I suppose, and some master _might_ be
there before us, having a look round, and then we should be done!”
Before an adequate retort could be concocted, Jan told Chips to go to
blazes, and Evan showed his indignation by being second through the
garden gate, which Carpenter shoved ajar behind them. Jan was already
leading the way to the back of the house. Instinctively the boys stole
gently over the weeds, though there was but a dead wall on the other
side of the main road, and only open fields beyond the matted ruin of a
back garden.
The back windows had escaped the stones of the village urchins, but the
glass half of a door into the garden was badly smashed. Jan put in his
hand to turn the key, but the door was open all the time. Inside, the
boys spoke as softly as they had trodden without, and when Carpenter
gave an honest shudder, Devereux followed suit with a wry giggle. It was
all as depressing as it could be: mouldy papers peeling off the walls,
rotting boards that threatened to let a leg clean through, and a more
than musty atmosphere that made the hardy leader pull faces in the hall.
“I should like to open a window or two,” said Jan, entering a room
better lighted and still better aired by broken panes.
“I should start my pipe, if I were you,” suggested Chips, with the
perfectly genuine motive implied. But it was a pity he did not think
twice before making the suggestion then.
Not that it was the first time he had thought of Jan’s pipe that
morning. He had been rather distressed when Jan showed it to him after
the holidays, for Chips had been brought up to view juvenile smoking
with some contempt; but he preferred to tolerate the smoker than to
alienate the friend, and earlier in the term he had looked on at many a
surreptitious rite. Jan certainly smoked as though he enjoyed it; but
Sprawson had shown expert acumen when he threatened his young 'un with
“hot bodkins if I catch you smoking while we’re training!” And Jan had
played the sportsman on the point. But to-day he was to have indulged
once more, and in the haunted house of all places. Carpenter had kept an
eye on the pocket bulging with Jan’s pipe and pouch, wondering if Evan’s
presence would retard or prevent their appearance, feeling altogether
rather cynical in the matter. But he had never meant to let the cat out
like this, and he turned shamefacedly from Jan’s angry look to Evan’s
immediate air of superiority.
“You don’t mean to say you smoke, Rutter?”
“I always did, you know,” said Jan, with uncouth grin and scarlet ears.
“I know.” Evan glanced at Chips. “But I didn’t think you’d have done it
here.”
“I don’t see any more harm in it here than at home.”
“Except that it’s a rotten kind of row to get into. I smoke at home
myself,” said Evan, loftily.
“All rows are rotten, aren’t they?” remarked Carpenter, with apparent
innocence. But Devereux was not deceived; these two were like steel and
flint to-day; and more than sparks might have flown between them if Jan
had not created a diversion by creeping back into the hall.
“I’m going upstairs before I do anything else,” he announced. “There’s
something I don’t much like.”
“What is it?”
“I want to see.”
Jan’s brows were knit; the other two followed him with instant
palpitations, but close together, for all their bickering. The stairs
and landing were in better case than the lower floor next the earth; the
stairs were sound enough to creak alarmingly as the boys ascended them
in single file. And at that all three stood still, as though they
expected an upper door to open and a terrible challenge to echo through
the empty house. But Jan’s was the first voice heard, as he picked up a
newspaper which had been left hanging on the landing banisters.
“Some sporting card’s been here before us,” said Jan. “Here’s the
_Sportsman_ of last Saturday week.”
A landing window with a border of red and blue glass, in peculiarly
atrocious shades, splashed the boys with vivid colour as they stood
abreast; but no light came from the upper rooms, all the doors being
shut. Jan opened one of them, but soon left his followers behind in
another room sweetened by a shattered pain. Their differences forgotten
in the excitement of the adventure, these two were chatting
confidentially enough when a dreadful cry brought them headlong to the
door.
It was Jan’s voice again; they could see nothing of him, but a large
mouse came scuttling through an open door at the end of the landing, and
almost over their toes. Carpenter skipped to one side, but Devereux
dashed his cap at the little creature with a shout of nervous mirth.
“Don’t laugh, you chaps!” said Jan, lurching into the doorway at the
landing’s end. They could not see his face; the strongest light was in
the room behind him, but they saw him swaying upon its threshold.
“I can’t help it,” said Evan, hysterically. “Frightened by a mouse—you
of all people!”
Jan turned back into the room without a word, but they saw his fist
close upon the handle of the door, and he seemed to be leaning on it for
support as the other two came up. “Oh, I say, we must smash a window
here!” Evan had cried, with the same strained merriment, when Chips,
bringing up the rear, saw the other spring from Jan’s side back into the
passage. Chips pushed past him, and hugged Jan’s arm.
It was not another empty room; there was a tall fixed cupboard between
fireplace and window, its door standing as wide open as the one where
the two boys clung together; and in the cupboard hung a suit of bursting
corduroys, with a blackened face looking out of it, and hobnail boots
just clear of the floor.
“Dead?” whispered Chips through chattering teeth.
“Dead for days,” Jan muttered back. “And he’s come in here and hung
himself in the haunted house!”
Crashing noises came from the stairs; it was Evan in full flight,
jumping many at a time. Chips was after him on the instant, and Jan
after Chips when he had closed the chamber of death behind him.
The horrified boys did not go by the gate as they had come, but smashed
the rotten fence at the end of the awful garden in the frenzy of their
flight across country. It was as though they had done the hideous deed
themselves; over the fields they fled pell-mell, up-hill and down-dale,
through emerald-dusted hedge and brimming ditch, as in a panic of
blood-guiltiness. Spring still smiled on them sunnily, breezily. Spring
birds welcomed them back with uninterrupted song. The boys had neither
eyes nor ears, but only bursting hearts and breaking limbs, until a
well-known steeple pricked the sky, and they flung themselves down in a
hollow between a ploughed field, rich as chocolate, and a meadow alive
with ewes and lambs.
Chips was speechless, because he was not supposed to run; but Evan, a
notoriously dapper little dandy, seldom to be seen dishevelled out of
flannels, was the one who looked least like himself. He lay on his
stomach in the fretted shadow of a stunted oak. But Jan sat himself on
the timber rails between bleating lambs and chocolate furrows, and made
the same remarks more than once.
“It’s a bad job,” said Jan at intervals.
“But are you sure about it?” Evan sat up to ask eventually. “Are you
positive it was a man, and that the man was dead?”
“I can swear to it,” said Jan.
“So can I,” wheezed Chips, who was badly broken-winded. “And that’s what
we shall have to do, worse luck!”
“Why?” from Evan.
“How can we help it?”
“Nobody saw us go in or come out.”
“Then do you mean to leave a dead man hanging till his head comes off?”
Chips had a graphic gift which was apt to lead him a bit too far.
Devereux, looking worried, and speaking snappily, promptly told him not
to be a beast.
“I didn’t mean to be, but I should think myself one if I slunk out of a
thing like this without a word to anybody.”
“I don’t see what business it is of ours.”
“The man may have a wife and kids. They must be half-mad to know what’s
become of him.”
“We can’t help that. Besides——”
Evan stopped. Jan was not putting in his word at all, but stolidly
listening from his perch.
“Besides what, Devereux?”
“Oh, nothing.”
“Of course we shall get into a _row_,” Chips admitted, cruelly; “but I
shouldn’t call it a very rotten one, myself. It would be far rottener to
try to avoid one now, and it might get us into a far worse row.”
Evan snorted an incoherent disclaimer, to the general effect that the
consequences were of course the very last consideration with him, at all
events so far as his own skin went. He was quite ready to stand the
racket, though he had been against the beastly haunted house from the
first, and it was rather hard luck on him. But what he seemed to feel
still more strongly was the hard luck on all their people, if the three
of them had to give evidence at an inquest, and the whole thing got into
the papers.
Chips felt that he would rather enjoy that part, but he did not say so,
and Jan still preserved a Delphic silence.
“Besides,” added Devereux, returning rather suddenly to his original
ground, “I’m blowed if I myself could swear I’d ever seen the body.”
“You wouldn’t,” remarked Jan, sympathetically. “You didn’t have a good
enough look.”
“Yet you saw enough to make you bolt,” said that offensive Chips, and
opened all the dampers of Evan’s natural heat.
“It wasn’t what I saw, my good fool!” he cried angrily. “You know as
well as I do what it was like up there. That’s the only reason I cleared
out.”
“Well, there you are!” said Jan, grinning aloft on his rail.
“Then you agree with Carpenter, do you, that it’s our duty to go in and
report the whole thing, and get a licking for our pains?”
Carpenter laughed satirically at the “licking,” but refrained from
speech. He knew of old that Evan’s horror of the rod was on a par with
the ordinary citizen’s horror of gaol. And he could not help wanting Jan
to know it—but Jan did.
Once, in the very oldest days, when the pretty boy and the stable brat
were playing together for almost the first time, the boy had broken a
window and begged the brat to father the crime. Jan would not have told
Chips for worlds; indeed, he was very sorry to have recalled so dim an
incident out of the dead past; but there it was, unbidden, and here was
the same inveterate abhorrence, not so much of actual punishment, but of
being put in an unfavourable light in the eyes of others. That was a
distinctive trait of Evan’s, peculiar only in its intensity. Both his
old companions were equally reminded of it now. But Jan’s was the hard
position! To have got in touch with Evan at last, to admire him as he
always had and would, and yet to have that admiration promptly tempered
by this gratuitous exhibition of a radical fault! Though he put it to
himself in simpler fashion, this was Jan’s chief trouble, and it would
have been bad enough just then without the necessity that he foresaw of
choosing between Chips and Evan.
“I don’t know about duty,” he temporised, “but I don’t believe we should
be licked.”
“Of course we shouldn’t!” cried Chips. “But it wouldn’t kill us if we
were.”
“You agree with him?” persisted Evan, in a threatening voice of which
the meaning was not lost on Jan. It meant out-of-touch again in no time,
and for good!
“I don’t know,” sighed Jan. “I suppose we ought to say what we’ve seen;
and it’ll pay us, too, if it’s going to get out anyhow; but I do think
it’s hard on you—Devereux. We dragged you into it. You never wanted to
come in; you said so over and over.” Jan gloomed and glowered, then
brightened in a flash. “Look here! I vote us two tell Heriot what we’ve
seen, Chips! Most likely he won’t ask if we were by ourselves; he’s sure
to think we were. If he does ask, we can say there was another chap, but
we’d rather not mention his name, because he was dead against the whole
thing, and never saw all we did!”
Jan had unfolded his bright idea directly to Carpenter, whose opinion he
awaited with evident anxiety. He resented being placed like this between
the old friend and the new, and having to side with one or the other,
especially when he himself could not see that it mattered so very much
which course they took. They could not bring the dead man back to life.
On the whole he supposed that Chips was right; but Jan would have held
his tongue with Evan against any other fellow in the school. It was the
new friend, however, who had been the true friend these two terms, and
it was not in Jan’s body to go against him now, though he would have
given a bit of it to feel otherwise.
“If that’s good enough for Devereux,” said Chips, dryly, “it’s good
enough for me. But I’m blowed if I could sleep till that poor chap’s cut
down!”
Devereux now became far from sure that it was good enough for him; in
fact he declared nearly all the way back that he would own up with the
others, that they must stand or fall together, even if he himself was
more sinned against than sinning. That was not indeed the expression he
used, but the schoolboy paraphrase was pretty close, and his companions
did not take it up. Chips, having gained his point, was content to look
volumes of unspoken criticism, while Jan felt heartily sick of the whole
discussion. He was prepared to do or to suffer what was necessary or
inevitable, but for his part he had talked enough about it in advance.
Evan, however, would not drop the subject until they found the familiar
street looking cynically sleepy and serene, the same and yet subtly
altered to those young eyes seared with a horror to be fully realised
only by degrees. It began to come home to them now, in the region of
other black caps with red badges, and faces that met theirs curiously,
as though they showed what they had seen. Their experience was indeed
settling over them like a blight, and two of the trio had forgotten all
about the consequences when the third blushed up and hesitated at
Heriot’s corner.
“Of course,” he stammered, “if you found, after all, that you really
were able to keep my name out of it, I should be awfully thankful to you
both, because I never should have put my nose into the beastly place
alone. But if it’s going to get you fellows into any hotter water I’ll
come forward like a shot.”
“Noble fellow!” murmured Carpenter as the pair turned into their quad.
“You shut up!” Jan muttered back. “I’ve a jolly good mind not to open my
own mouth either!”
But he did, and in the event there was no call upon Evan’s nobility.
Heriot knew that the two boys who came to him after dinner were always
about together, and he was too much disturbed by what they told him to
ask if they had been alone as usual. He took that for granted, in the
communications which he lost no time in making both to the police and to
the Head Master, who took it for granted in his turn when the pair came
to his study in the School House. He was very stern with them, but not
unkind. They had broken bounds, and richly deserved the flogging he
would have given them if their terrible experience were not a punishment
in itself; it was indeed a very severe one to Carpenter, who was by this
time utterly unstrung; but Rutter, who certainly looked unmoved, was
reminded that this was the second time he had escaped his deserts for a
serious offence, and he was grimly warned against a third. If they
wished to signify their appreciation of his clemency, the old man added,
they would both hold their tongues about the whole affair.
And the two boys entered into a compact to that effect between
themselves, though not without considerable reluctance on the part of
poor Chips, who felt that he was locking up the conversational capital
of a school lifetime. Yet within a week the adventure was being talked
about, and that despite the fact that the Chief Constable of the county,
an old friend of Heriot’s, had prevailed upon the County Coroner to
dispense with the actual evidence of either boy.
Jan asked Chips if he had told anybody, only to meet with an indignant
denial.
“I’ve never said a word, my good Tiger!”
“Well, I haven’t, that’s a sure thing.”
“Then it must be Devereux.”
“I thought you’d say that,” said Jan, but kept his ears open in form,
and actually overheard Evan boasting of the adventure before Haigh came
in. Moreover, as he was not questioned about it himself, Jan was forced
to the conclusion that Evan was acting on the principle of one good turn
deserving another, and leaving out every name but his own.
“Well?” asked Chips when next they met.
“Well, I’m afraid you’re right; and I don’t know what to think of it,”
said poor Jan, hiding his feelings as best he could.
“I won’t say what I think,” returned Chips.
And he never did.