The next morning Rob tried earnestly and vainly to drive a wedge in Beth’s good graces, but she treated him with a casual tolerance that finally put him in an ill humor which he took out on me with many a gibe at my “stone fence spirit.”

Men of my profession who have to deal with facts rather than fancy are not believers in the supernatural. I was sure that the extending arm and the beckoning 125 finger were there, but belonged to no ghost. It might have been a curtain blowing out the window or a fake of some kind. But I knew that unless there was some kind of a showing in a ghostly way that night, I should never hear the last of my stone fence indulgence, so I resolved to make a preliminary visit alone by daylight and rig up something white to substantiate my spectral narrative.

I didn’t find an opportunity to escape unseen until late in the afternoon, when I went, ostensibly, for a solitary row on the lake.

I landed and came by a circuitous route to the haunted house. The calm security of sunshine, of course, prevented any shivers of anticipation such as I had experienced the night before. On passing one of the windows on my way to the front entrance, I glanced in, stopped in sheer fright, stooped 126 and backed to the next window, which was screened by a labyrinth of vines through which I peered. I am sure I lost my Bloom of Youth complexion for a few moments. I babbled aimlessly to myself and then managed to pull together and beat it to the lake with as much speed as my farmer friend had shown in his retreat. I made the 127 boat and the hotel in double quick time.

I felt no misgivings now as to the promise of a sensation that night, and that sustaining thought was all that propped my flagging spirits throughout the day, but I resolved to keep my little party at safe distance from the house.

“Say we keep our nocturnal noctambulation under our hats,” proposed Rob.

When this proposition was translated to Silvia, she entirely approved, so, committing Diogenes to the Polydores’ Providence, we left the hotel at half past eleven for a row on the lake by moonlight.

When we descended the slope leading to the House of Mystery, I cautioned silence and a “safety-first” distance.

“Ghosts are easily vanished,” I informed them. “They don’t seek limelight, and I want you to be sure to see this one.”

As we came to the untrodden undergrowth we heard a weird, wailing sound that would have curdled my blood had I not glanced in the window that afternoon and so, in a measure, been prepared for this––or anything.

“Look!” whispered Beth. “The arm!”

Silvia looked at the roof window and with a stifled shriek of terror turned and fled up the hill, Rob chivalrously pursuing her.

Beth was pale, but game.

“What can it be, Lucien?” she whispered. “Do we dare go in to see?”

“I wouldn’t, Beth,” I vetoed quickly. “Maybe some lunatic or half-witted person has taken up abode here.”

“Lucien!” called Rob peremptorily.

I turned quickly. He was at the top of the hill, half supporting Silvia. I ran toward them, followed by Beth.

“It isn’t a ghost, of course, Silvia,” I 129 said soothingly, and then repeated my supposition about the lunatic.

“Of course I don’t believe in ghosts,” said Silvia shudderingly, “but it’s an awful place and those sounds are like those I have heard in nightmares.”

“We’ll hurry back to the hotel and forget all about it,” I urged.

I rowed the boat and Silvia sat opposite me. Beth and Rob were in the stern and I had to listen to their conversation.

“Of course I felt a little creepy,” she admitted, “but then I like to feel that way, and I wasn’t afraid.”

“No, of course, you wouldn’t be,” he replied somewhat ironically. “You’re the new woman type.”

“No, I am not,” she denied. “I wish I were. Silvia’s really the strong-minded type.”

“She didn’t act the part when she saw the ghost,” he retorted.

“It’s very unusual for her nerves to give way. Silvia’s quite a surprise to me this summer, but I think those funny Polydores have upset her more than Lucien realizes.”

I wondered if she were right, and once again murderous wishes toward the Polydores entered my brain, and I made renewed vows about disposing of them on our return home.

One thing, however, had been accomplished by our expedition. Silvia was more lenient in her judgment on my indulgences of the preceding night.

By the time we pulled in at the landing, Silvia had recovered her equilibrium.

“Lucien, what the devil do you suppose was in that house?” asked Rob, when we were putting up the boat.

“Loons and things,” I allowed.

“But what was that white arm?”

“Some fake thing the village wag has put up to scare the natives.”

Next morning’s stage brought some new arrivals, and among them were two college students who at once were claimed by Beth. She played tennis with one and later went rowing with the other. Rob smoked and sulked, apart.

My farmer friend had been garrulous and rumors of the ghost and the haunted house had come to the ears of the hotel inmates, thereby causing a pleasurable stir of excitement. A number of them announced their intention of visiting the place. They asked me to be their guide, but I refused.

“It was interesting,” I said, “but I think it would be a bore to see the same ghost twice.”

“I am sure I don’t care to go again,” was 132 Silvia’s emphatic reply when asked to be one of the party.

“Ghosts are scientifically admitted and explained,” growled Rob, “so I don’t see anything to be excited about.”

Beth accepted the offer of escort of one of the students, so Silvia, Rob, and I remained at home. The night was quite cool, and we played cards in our room. When the party returned, Beth joined us. She looked rather out of sorts.

“Oh, yes,” she replied in answer to Silvia’s eager inquiry. “We saw the ghost. I don’t know whether it was the same little old last night’s ghost or a new one. He showed more of himself this time though. He had two arms and a veiled head out of the window. As soon as our crowd glimpsed it, they all fled quicker than we did last night. Those two students fell all over each other and left me in the lurch.”

“What could you expect,” asked Rob, “from such ladylike things? They ought to be kept in the confines of the croquet ground. If they are a fair specimen of the kind you have met, no wonder you––”

He stopped abruptly.

“No wonder what?” she asked quickly.

“Nothing,” he replied glumly.

When I came down to breakfast the next morning, the landlady in tears waylaid me.

“Oh, Mr. Wade,” she began in trouble-telling tone, “this affair about the ghost is going to hurt my business. Some of those folks say they are going home, and they will tell others and––”

“I’ll fix the ghost story. Just leave it to me!” I assured her optimistically, as we went into the dining-room.

There were only enough guests to fill one long table, and every one was excitedly dissecting the ghost.

I took my seat and also the floor.

“I hate to dispel your illusions,” I said cheerfully, “but the fact is, I made a daylight investigation of the haunted house. First I looked in the window and I saw––”

“Oh, what did you see?” chorused a dozen or more expectant voices.

“A lot of––mice.”

“Oh!” came in disappointed and skeptical tones.

“But, the ghost, Mr. Wade?”

“Yes! The arms and the head?”

“A fake figure put up by some practical joker for the purpose of frightening timid people and encouraging the credulous. I didn’t want to spoil your little picnic, so I kept still.”

“Those sounds, Lucien!” reminded Silvia.

“Were from a cat chorus. They were prowling about the house.”

“You’re sure some lawyer, Mr. Wade,” doubtfully complimented my grateful landlady, as we went out of the room after breakfast.

“Lucien,” asked Rob sotto voce, joining me on the veranda, “why don’t the cats you speak of catch that lot of mice?”

Fortunately Beth came up to us, and I didn’t have to explain.

“Oh!” she said with a shudder. “I’ll never go near that awful place! I’d rather see a perfectly good ghost, or a loon, or a lunatic any day than a mouse.”

“You’re surely not afraid of a mouse!” exclaimed Rob.

“Why not?” she asked coolly as she walked on.

“I told you she was feminine,” I reminded him.

He shook his head.

“I can’t understand,” he remarked, “why a girl who is afraid of mice should be––”

“You don’t understand anything about women,” I interrupted.

“You’re right, Lucien. I don’t, but your sister is surely the greatest enigma of them all.”

I rented the stone fence farmer’s “autoo” 137 and took Silvia and Diogenes to a neighboring town that afternoon. We didn’t get back to the hotel until dinner time.

“What have you been up to all day, Rob?” I asked.

“Numerous things. For one, I strolled down to the haunted house.”

“What did you see?” cried the women.

“I saw four––”

“Ghosts?” asked Beth.

I shot him a warning glance.

“Young tomcats playing tag with the mice.”

I corralled Rob outside after dinner.

“For Heaven’s sake!” I implored. “Don’t disturb Silvia’s peace of mind. Did you go inside?”

“No; I was sorely tempted to, but refrained out of deference to the evident wishes of my host, but really, Lucien, we should––”

“I have only ten more days off, Rob. Don’t make any unpleasant suggestions.”

“I won’t,” he said promptly.