  But the days passed by, and Dan Peterson was unable to make good his word. Everybody, outside of the immediate household at Black Aspens believed the two mysterious deaths were the result of the murderous intent of one or more human beings, and refused absolutely to consider the spook nonsense offered in explanation by the friends and relatives of the victims. Meanwhile there were a few further inexplicable happenings in the old house. Now and then, one or another would notice the odour of prussic acid, or would report a glimpse of a ghostly figure prowling round at night, or tell of hearing low moans at four o’clock in the morning. But, usually, these were the experiences of only one, and lacking corroboration, could be set down to imagination, which was now especially vivid in all the party. Often Eve or Norma recounted some of these mysteries, but Landon laughed at them and said the girls had been dreaming. Professor Hardwick experienced no similar illusions, though he longed to do so. Indeed, he really watched and listened, hoping for some message or manifestation from his friend, Gifford Bruce. But none was vouchsafed to him, and though interested in the experiences of the others, he still longed for a personal experience. And finally one came to him. At four o’clock one morning, he lay awake, as often, listening to the strokes of the hall clock, which none of them could ever hear without a thrill, and slowly in at his bedroom door floated a dim, ghostly shape. There was not sufficient light for him to discern more than the outline of what seemed to be a tall, gaunt figure, with a shawl over its head. Nearer to him the thing came, and the old Professor felt himself grow cold with fear. He had often boasted of his desire to see the ghost, and of his scorn of fear in connection therewith. But now, that the spectre had really appeared to him, the old man trembled all over, and tried in vain to cry out. His throat contracted, his tongue was powerless, and a sort of paralysis of terror held him in thrall. The approaching figure seemed not to walk, but progressed by a strange gliding motion, and came within a foot or two of the bed, where the Professor lay, shivering with dread. Still but a misty wraith, the awful thing leaned over the prostrate man and as the shawled head drew near, Professor Hardwick saw dimly the face of his visitor, and it was a skull! The fearsome sight of hollow eye-sockets and grinning, fleshless jaws, gave a sudden strength to the frightened man, and he uttered a faint terrorized scream. Slowly the spectre raised a long, white-draped arm, and Hardwick saw a small glass tumbler in front of his face. Only for an instant, and then the phantom faded away, and vanished into space. Again the Professor called out, and hurrying footsteps were heard in the hall. Mr. Tracy was away in Boston, and Rudolph Braye had gone to New York, so the only other man in the house was Landon, who came hastily to the Professor’s door in his dressing-gown and slippers. “What is it,” he asked, “did you call? Are you ill?” “The—the ghost——” the old man articulated with difficulty. “Nonsense!” said Landon, “you’ve been dreaming. Where’s a ghost? I just came along the corridor, and I didn’t see any.” “Don’t tell me I didn’t see it,” babbled the Professor. “I did, Wynne, as plain as I see you now.” Landon had brought his own bedroom candle, and by its scant light he scanned the old man’s face. “You’re all scared up, Professor,” he said, kindly. “Guess I’ll give you a nightcap, and send you back to sleep again, it’s only four or so.” “I know it, Wynne, it was just four when that—that thing came. I wasn’t asleep, I haven’t been for an hour or more. Just at four o’clock,—the hall clock was striking,—I saw that awful thing come stalking in—and—and it had a death’s head under that white shawl——” “Hold on, there, Professor, if that’s so, there must be somebody who did the stalking! I’m going to make search.” Landon called Thorpe, and together the two went over the whole house, searching in every nook and cranny that could possibly conceal an intruder. But none was found. Every door and window was securely fastened, and as Landon had often observed, not a mouse could get into Black Aspens, once it was locked up for the night. “Nothing doing, Professor,” he reported cheerfully, after the search. “We lighted up the whole place, and we scoured for burglars or ghost-pretenders, but nothing human has entered this house to-night. Nor was your spook any of ourselves, for Milly has rounded up the girls, and I’ve made sure that the doors that shut off the servants’ quarters have not been opened. Now, what have you to say?” “Only that I saw the thing,” the Professor had pulled himself together, “and I’m not prepared to say whether I think it was a phantom or a person pretending to be one. You’re sure about the servants?” “Absolutely, they couldn’t get through.” “What about Stebbins? Could he have been concealed in the house all night?” “No; and if he had, how could he have got out? All the doors and windows are locked on the inside, just as they’ve been all night. He couldn’t lock them behind him.” “Thorpe could let him in and out, if he wanted to.” “Into the back part of the house. But Thorpe himself can’t get into the main house, the rooms that we use, after I lock the doors between. Come, now, Professor, you know all that as well as I do. Either you dreamed your ghost, or it’s the real thing, this time. Take your choice.” Landon was so cheerful and took the thing so lightly, that Hardwick began to feel more at ease, and recounted his story in further detail. “It was the real thing,” he concluded. “I wish Rudolph or Mr. Tracy had been here. They sleep in this wing, and they would have come to me more quickly than you did, Wynne.” “I came the moment I heard you call, at least, as soon as I could slip into a bathrobe.” “I know you did, and it wouldn’t have mattered. That thing didn’t walk away down the corridor, you know, it just faded away,—vanished into the air. I could see it——” “How could you, with no light?” “I don’t know how I did. It wasn’t exactly luminous, and yet it gave out a very faint glow, enough for me to see it, anyhow. Oh, I shall never forget its awful grin!” Professor Hardwick told his tale to Eve and Norma later in the day, and in the afternoon the men returned. Mr. Tracy said he had been to Boston, to see the trustees of a church that had called him to its pastorate, and Braye had been in New York looking after some of his late uncle’s business affairs. Both men were deeply interested in the story of the ghost, for as they said, Professor Hardwick was not one to imagine or to think himself awake when he was dreaming. They listened attentively, and Tracy summed it up by saying, “Well, if Professor Hardwick saw that, it makes me feel like believing in the supernatural.” “Me, too,” agreed Braye. “I don’t take much stock in the stories of the girls, for Eve is a visionary creature, and Norma is very imaginative. But when a rational, scientific man sees things, I believe the things are there to be seen! At least, I’m willing to believe. I would feel more certain if I saw it myself,—and yet,—to tell the truth I’ve no desire to see it. I’ll take other people’s words for it. How about you, Tracy?” “I don’t believe I’m psychic, or sensitive, or whatever you call it,” and the clergyman smiled. “You know I slept in the Room with the Tassels, but no ghostly visitor favoured me.” “It may come to you yet,” said Hardwick, turning grave eyes on Tracy, “or you, either, Rudolph. You see, it doesn’t visit only that room. I wish some of you others could see it, I’d feel more sure of my own story.” “Aren’t you sure of it?” asked Tracy. “What do you mean by sure?” queried the Professor, a little petulantly. “Of course, I’m sure I saw what I’ve told you, but I want to be sure it was a ghost, and not a person tricking me. Could it have been Miss Carnforth, now?” “No, it wasn’t,” declared Landon. “Milly went to the girls as I went to you, Professor, and found them both asleep. Or at least they were dozing, but they were safely in their beds. You know we’re all more or less wakeful at four A.M.” “Four P.M. is a more fatal time,” said Braye, musingly. “The whole thing is frightful. I’m for going back to New York, as soon as we can.” “If this should be the eleventh case,” began the Professor. “What do you mean, the eleventh case?” asked Tracy. “As I told these people before we started up here, Andrew Lang has said, in one of his books, that ten out of every eleven cases of so-called supernatural manifestations are produced by fraud. When I said that, Miss Carnforth very astutely said, that it was the eleventh case that was of interest to investigators. And I agreed. If this, now, is the eleventh case,—I don’t mean only my experience of last night, but all our experiences up here,—if this is the eleventh case, that is not the result of fraud, and it certainly looks like it, why, then, we have something worth investigating.” “Not at the cost of any more lives,” said Braye, sternly. “If it is the eleventh case, and if it is going right on being an eleventh case, I’ve had enough of it! Perhaps that apparition of a glass in the spectre’s hand, foretells tragedy to you, Professor.” Braye spoke gloomily, rather than as an alarmist, but the Professor turned white. “I’ve thought of that,” he said, in a low voice. “That’s why I want to be sure the phantom was a real one. If it was fraud, I have no fear, but if it was really the disembodied spirit of that shawled woman, appearing in her own materialized skeleton,—I, too, have had about enough investigating!” “What do you think, Norma?” Braye asked of the girl, as, later in the afternoon, they were walking round along the wild path that was the only approach to the great portals of Black Aspens. “I don’t know, Rudolph, but I’m beginning to think there is a human hand and brain back of it all. I’m a sensitive, and that’s one reason why these things don’t appeal to me as supernatural. I’ve had more or less experience with supernormal matters and I’ve never known anything like the things that have happened and are happening up here.” “Whom do you suspect, Norma? Tell me, for I, too, think there may be some trickery, and I wonder if we look in the same direction.” “I don’t want even to hint it, Rudolph, but——” “Don’t hesitate to tell me, dear. Oh, that slipped out! I’ve no right to say ‘dear’ to you, but,—Norma, after we get back to town, after these horrors are farther in the past, mayn’t I tell you then,—what I hope you will be glad to hear?” “Don’t—don’t say such things,” and a pained look came into the blue eyes. “You know you are not free to talk like that!” “Not free? Why am I not? What do you mean?” “You know, you must know. Eve told me——” “Eve couldn’t have told you that there was anything between her and me! Why, Norma, I have loved you from the very first moment I laid eyes on you! I have kept myself from telling you, because of all these dreadful things that have been going on. This atmosphere is no place for love-making, but, dearest, just give me a gleam of hope that later,—when we go back home, that I may——” “Oh, Rudolph! Look! What is that? See, in the Room with the Tassels!” They had neared the house on their return stroll, and from the window of the fatal room peered out at them a ghastly, grinning skull! It was nearly dusk, but they could see quite clearly the hollow eye-sockets and the awful teeth of the fleshless face. Norma clung to Braye, almost fainting. He slipped an arm round her saying, “Brace up, Norma, dearest, be brave. This is our chance. Let us dash right in, and see if it is still there. Stay here, if you prefer, but I must go!” He hastened toward the house, and Norma kept pace with him. She felt imbued with his spirit of courage and bravery, and together they hurried and burst in at the front door, which was never locked save at night. Without stopping, Braye rushed into the Room with the Tassels. But there was no one there, and no sign of any occupant, either human or supernatural. There was no one in the hall, and further search showed no one in the drawing room. Nor could anything unusual be found in the house. Most of the people were in their rooms. Eve was partly ill with a headache, and Milly was looking after her. The men appeared as Braye and Norma called out, and soon all had gathered to hear the strange new story. “I shouldn’t believe it, if you hadn’t both seen it,” said the Professor, “but I can’t think you were both under the spell of imagination.” “I want to go home,” Milly said, plaintively, “I don’t want to see the thing, and I’m afraid I’ll be the next one it will visit.” “We will go, dear,” said Landon. “As soon as we can make arrangements we’ll get off. Don’t you say so, Eve?” “Yes,” she assented, but slowly. “I would prefer to stay a bit longer, myself, but I really don’t think Milly ought to. However, I’ll do as the majority wish.” But the matter of going away from Black Aspens was not entirely at their own disposal. The detective, Dan Peterson, had been exceedingly busy, and had wrung a confession out of Elijah Stebbins. It had been a mild sort of third degree, but it had resulted in a frank avowal of Stebbins’ implication in some, at least, of the mysterious happenings that had puzzled the people at Black Aspens. Stebbins defended himself by the statement that he only rented his house on the understanding that it was haunted. He said, it was reputed haunted, but he knew that unless something mysterious occurred, the tenants would feel dissatisfied. He said, too, that he saw no harm in doing a few little tricks to mystify and interest the investigators, but he swore that he had no hand in the spectral appearances nor in the awful tragedy of the four o’clock tea. What he did confess to was the placing of the old, battered candlestick in Miss Reid’s room the first night the party arrived. “I done it, sort of on impulse,” he said; “I heard ’em talking about ghosts, and just to amaze them, I sneaked in in the night and took that candlestick offen Mr. Bruce’s dresser and set it on the young lady’s. I didn’t mean any harm, only to stir things up.” “Which you did,” remarked Peterson drily. “Go on.” The confession was being recorded in the presence of police officials, and Stebbins was practically under arrest, or would be very shortly after his tale was told. “Well, then, the first night Mr. Bruce slept in that room, that ha’nted room, I thought I’d wrap a sheet round me and give him a little scare,—he was so scornful o’ ghosts, you know. An’ I did, but nobody would believe his yarn. So that’s all I did. If any more of them ghost performances was cut up by live people, they wasn’t me. Somebody else did it.” And no amount of further coercion could budge Stebbins from these statements. He stuck to it, that though he had tricked his tenants, he had done nothing to harm them, and his intentions were of the best, as he merely wanted to give them what they had taken his house for. “You intended to keep it up?” asked Peterson. “Yes, I did, but after they took things into their own hands, and played spooks themselves, what was the use?” “How did you get into the house at night, when it was so securely locked?” asked Peterson. “I managed it, but I won’t tell you how,” said Stebbins, doggedly. “With Thorpe’s help,” suggested Peterson, “or—oh, by Jinks!” he whistled; “I think I begin to see a glimmer of a gleam of light on this mystery! Yes, I sure do! Excuse me, and I’ll fly over to the house and do a little questioning. Officer, keep friend Stebbins safe against my return.” Arrived at Black Aspens, Peterson asked for Rudolph Braye, and was closeted with him for a secret session, from which Braye came forth looking greatly worried and perturbed. Peterson went away, and Braye sought the others. He found them listening to a letter which Professor Hardwick had just received and which the old man was reading aloud. “It’s from Mr. Wise,” he said to Braye, as the latter came in hearing. “He’s a detective, and he writes to me, asking permission to take up this case.” “What a strange thing to do!” exclaimed Braye. “Yes,” agreed Hardwick, “and he seems to be a strange man. Listen; ‘If I succeed in finding a true solution to the mystery, you may pay me whatever you deem the matter worth, if I do not, there will be no charge of any sort. Except that I should wish to live in the house with you all, at Black Aspens. I know all of the affair that has been printed in the newspapers, and no more. If you are still in the dark, I should like prodigiously to get into the thick of it and will arrive as soon as you summon me.” There was more to the letter but that was the gist of it, and Braye listened in silence. “I think,” he said, as the Professor finished, “that we don’t want that detective poking into our affairs.” “I agree,” said Landon. “There’s been quite enough publicity about all this already, and I, for one, prefer to go back to New York and forget it as soon as we can.” “We can’t forget it very soon, Wynne,” put in Milly, “but I, too, want to go back to New York.” “We can’t go right off,” Braye told them, “we must wait a week or so, at least.” “Why?” asked Eve, not at all displeased by this statement, for she frankly admitted a desire to stay longer at Black Aspens. “Oh, lots of reasons.” Braye put her off. “But let’s settle down for another week here, and then we’ll see.” “Then I’m going to tell Wise to come up for that week,” declared the Professor. “I don’t altogether adhere to my conviction as to supernatural powers, and I want to see what a big, really clever detective can dig up in the way of clues or evidence or whatever they work by.” “Oh, cut out Wise,” urged Braye. “We don’t want any more detectives than we are ourselves. And Peterson is pretty busy just now, too.” It was after the confab broke up that Milly went to Braye. “Why don’t you want Mr. Wise to come?” she said, without preamble. “Why, oh,—why just ’cause I don’t,” he stammered, in an embarrassed way. “You can’t fool me, Rudolph,” she said, with an agonized look on her pretty face. “You are afraid he’ll suspect Wynne,—aren’t you?” “Don’t, Milly,” urged Braye, “don’t say such things!” “You are! I know from the way you try to put me off. Oh, Braye, he didn’t do it! He hadn’t any hand in any of the queer doings, had he, Rudolph? Tell me you know he hadn’t!” “Of course, Milly, of course.” “But, listen, Rudolph, I heard some of the things that Peterson man said to you, I listened at the door, I couldn’t help it.” “Milly! I’m ashamed of you!” “I don’t care! I’m not ashamed. But,—I heard him say that he thinks Wynne is in league with Mr. Stebbins and that the two of them brought about all the mysterious doings——” “Hush, Milly! Don’t let any one hear you! You mustn’t breathe such things!” “But he did say so, didn’t he, Rudolph?” “I won’t tell you.” “I know he did! I heard him.” “Then forget it, as soon as you can. Trust me, Milly. I’ll do all I can to keep suspicion from Wynne. But, do this, Milly. Use all your powers of persuasion with Professor Hardwick, and make him give up his plan of getting that detective up here. That Wise is a wise one indeed! He’ll find out every thing we don’t want known, and more, too! Will you, Milly, will you,—if only for Wynne’s sake—try to keep that man away?” “I’ll try, Rudolph, oh, of course I will! But what can I do, if the Professor has made up his mind? You know how determined he is.” “Get the girls to help. Don’t breathe to them a word that you overheard Peterson say, but manage to make them do all they can to keep that detective off. If you all band together, you can do it. Wynne won’t want him; I don’t; I don’t think Mr. Tracy will; and if you women are on our side, Hardwick will be only one against the rest of us, and we must win the day! Milly, that Wise must not come up here,—if you value your peace of mind!” “Oh, Rudolph, you frighten me so. I will do all I can, oh, I will!” |
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