"Would you do that, Mr. Strange?" Margaret inquired. Just supposing you heard weird sounds and things?"
"No, I don't think I should," he said. "I'm afraid I haven't much opinion of village policemen."
"My husband hasn't either," Celia said. She heard a latchkey grate in the lock. "Here he is!" she said. "Is that you, Charles?"
"I'm not quite sure," came the answer. "It used to be, but since the experiences of the last ten minutes…'
"Good heavens, you haven't seen the ghost, have you?" cried Margaret.
Charles appeared in the doorway, minus his shoes. Over his shoulder Peter said, grinning: "He encountered a little mud, that's all."
"If you want to know the truth," said Charles, "I have narrowly escaped death by drowning in quicksands. Thank you, yes, and don't overdo the soda! Too much of water hast thou, poor Charles Malcolm."
"Oh, I know! You must have found that boggy patch," said Margaret.
"I trust it was not the cesspool," Mrs. Bosanquet said, in mild concern.
"So do I," Charles said. "That thought had not so far occurred to me, but - but I do hope it wasn't."
"Take heart," said Strange, setting down his glass. "I think your cesspool is more likely to be down near the river." He went up to Celia, and held out his hand. "I'm sure you're longing to get to bed, Mrs. Malcolm, so I'll say good-night."
He took his leave of them all. Peter escorted him to the front door, and when the two of them had left the room Charles said: "Well, of all the miserable conspirators commend me to you three! I should think by to-morrow the whole countryside will know that something has happened here."
"Really, Charles!" Mrs. Bosanquet expostulated. "It is true that I was about to make a reference to what happened last night, but I am sure I covered it up most naturally.,
"Dear Aunt," said Charles frankly, "not one of you would have deceived an oyster."
Peter came back into the room. "You seem to be getting very thick with Strange," he said to his sister. "Did you happen to find out what he is, or anything about him?"
"He's a surveyor," said Charles, finishing what was left of his whisky and soda.
"A surveyor?" echoed Margaret. "How do you know? Did he tell you so?"
"To the deductive mind," said Charles airily, "his profession was obvious from his knowledge of the probable whereabouts of our cesspool."
"Ass!" said Celia. "Come on up to bed. What does it matter what he is? He's nice, that's all I know."
It was two hours later when Charles came downstairs again, and he had changed into a tweed suit, and was wearing rubber-soled shoes. Peter was already in the library, reading by the light of one lamp. He looked up as Charles came in. "Celia asleep?" he asked.
"She was when I left her; but I've trod on nineteen creaking boards since then. Have you been round the house?"
"I have, and I defy anyone to get in without us hearing."
Charles went across to draw the heavy curtains still more closely together over the windows. "If Strange really means to try and get in to-night, he won't risk it for another hour or two," he prophesied. "Hanged if I can make that fellow out!"
"From what I could gather," Peter said, "he did his best to pump Margaret. Seemed to want to find out how we were getting on here."
Charles grunted, and drew a chair up to the desk and proceeded to study a brief which had been sent on from town that morning. Peter retired into his book again, and for a long while no sound broke the silence save the crackle of the papers under Charles' hand, and the measured tick of the old grandfather clock in the hall. At last Peter came to the end of his novel, and closed it. He yawned, and looked at his wrist-watch. "Good Lord! two o'clock already! Do we sit here till breakfast-time? I've an idea I shan't feel quite so fresh to-morrow night."
Charles pushed his papers from him with a short sigh of exasperation. "I don't know why people go to law," he said gloomily. "More money than sense."
"Got a difficult case?" inquired Peter.
"I haven't got a case at all," was the withering retort. "And that's counsel's learned opinion. Would you like to go and fetch me something to eat from thee larder?"
"No," said Peter, "since you put it like that, I shouldn't."
"Then I shall have to go myself," said Charles, getting up. "There was a peculiarly succulent pie if I remember rightly."
"Well, bring it in here, and I'll help you eat it," Peter offered. "And don't forget the bread!"
Before Charles could open his mouth to deliver a suitable reply a sound broke the quiet of the house, and brought Peter to his feet in one startled bound. For the sound was that same eerie groan which they had heard before, and which seemed to rise shuddering from somewhere beneath their feet.
Chapter Four
The weird sound died, and again silence settled down on the house. Yet somehow the silence seemed now to be worse than that hair-raising groan. Something besides themselves was in the house.
Peter passed his tongue between lips that had grown suddenly dry. He looked at Charles, standing motionless in the doorway. Charles was listening intently; he held up a warning finger.
Softly Peter went across to his side. Charles said under his breath:
"Wait. No use plunging round the house haphazard. Turn the lamp down."
Peter went back, and in a moment only a glimmer of light illumined the room. He drew his torch out of his pocket and stood waiting by the table.
It seemed to him that the minutes dragged past. Straining his ears he thought he could hear little sounds, tiny creaks of furniture, perhaps the scutter of a mouse somewhere in the wainscoting. The ticking of the clock seemed unusually loud, and when an owl hooted outside it made him jump.
A stair creaked; Charles' torch flashed a white beam of light across the empty hall, and went out again. He slightly shook his head in answer to Peter's quick look of inquiry.
Peter found himself glancing over his shoulder towards the window. He half thought that one of the curtains moved slightly, but when he moved cautiously forward to draw it back there was nothing there. He let it fall into position again, and stood still, wishing that something, anything, would happen to break this nerveracking silence.
He saw Charles stiffen suddenly, and incline his head as though to hear more distinctly. He stole to his side. "What?" he whispered.
"Listen!"
Again the silence fell. Peter broke it. "What did you hear?"
"A thud. There it is again!"
A muffled knock reached Peter's ears. It seemed to come from underneath. In a moment it was repeated, a dull thud, drawing nearer, as though something was striking against a stone wall.
"The cellars!" Peter hissed. "There must be a way in that we haven't found!"
Again the knocking, deadened by the solid floor, was repeated. It was moving nearer still, and seemed now to sound directly beneath their feet.
"Come on!" Charles said, and slipped the torch into his left hand. He picked up the stout ash-plant which he had placed ready for use, and stole out, and across the hall to the door that shut off the servants' wing from the rest of the house.
The stairs leading down to the cellars were reached at the end of the passage. They were stone, and the two men crept down them without a sound to betray their presence. At the foot Charles said in Peter's ear: "Know your way about?"
"No," Peter whispered. "We don't use the cellars."
"Damn!" Charles switched on his torch again.
The place felt dank and very cold. Grey walls of stone flanked the passage; the roof was of stone also, and vaulted. Charles moved forward, down the arched corridor, in the direction of the library. Various cellars led out of the main passage; in the first was a great mound of coal, but the rest were empty.