"My first," he answered. "I was told the fishing was good, and the inn comfortable, so I thought I'd give it a trial. You're new to the place yourself, aren't you?"
"Yes, we only moved in a week ago." Her dimple peeped out. "I must tell you, because it's really rather funny: when we saw you just now we thought you were our ghost."
He glanced down at her. "Have you got a ghost?" he asked. "How exciting! What sort of a ghost?"
"Well, we're not sure about that. A squeaking one, anyway."
"That doesn't sound very awful. Haven't you seen it?"
"No, thank goodness. Of course I don't suppose it's a ghost at all, really, but when we came out we'd just heard the most gruesome sort of a groan. Honestly, it made one's blood run cold. So Chas - my brother-in-law — is going round oiling all the door-hinges. Look, that's the chapel. Doesn't it look eerie and romantic?"
"Yes, I don't think I should care to spend the night up there alone," Strange admitted.
They stood still for a moment, surveying the ruin. Strange glanced back towards the house. "H'm. It's rather cut off by the trees, isn't it? Can you see it from the house at all?"
"No, not from downstairs. You can from my window, and the landing window. Why?"
"I only thought it was rather a pity anything so picturesque should be out of sight."
They walked on slowly. "If the place is haunted at all, I'm sure the ghost lives in the chapel," Margaret said lightly. "lf I had the courage of a mouse, which I haven't, I'd get my brother to sit up with me and watch."
"I think it's just as well you haven't," said Strange, with another of his swift transforming smiles. "You never know, and - I should hate you to get a fright."
"Oh, nothing would induce Peter to forsake his bed," she said. "Besides, he doesn't believe in ghosts. Here's your path. You can't miss the way now." She stopped and held out her hand.
Michael Strange took it in his. "Thank you very much," He said. "It was awfully good of you to bother. I - hope you get another puncture when I'm in the offing."
" How nice of you." She smiled, and withdrew her hand. "Do come and see us if ever you feel like it. Goodbye!"
She watched him stride away down the footpath, and turned, and went slowly back to the house.
"Well, did you find out anything about the fellow?" her brother asked when she entered the library.
"Oh, he's just on his holiday," she replied.
"So we gathered," said Charles. "What's his job?"
"I didn't ask. Why were you two so stuffy? You don't think he was responsible for the noise we heard, do you?"
"That solution hadn't occurred to me," said Charles. "I admit he didn't give me the impression of one who would stand under someone else's window and groan at them. Still, you never know."
Celia held up her finger. "I protest. We are not going to talk about groans or ghosts any more. Carried?"
"Carried unanimously," said Peter.
That resolution might have been kept longer had it not been for the happenings of the next night.
It was about half-past ten when a crash that resounded through the house penetrated even to Mrs. Bosanquet's ears, and made Celia, who was improvising idly on the piano, strike a jangling discord. The crash seemed to come from the upper landing, and it was followed by a bump-bump-bump, as though some hard object were rolling down the stairs.
"Good Lord, who's smashing up the place now?" said Charles, getting out of his chair. He went to the door, and opened it. "That you, Peter?" he called.
The study door opposite opened. "No. What on earth's happened?" Peter asked.
"Dunno. Without wishing to leap to conclusions I should hazard a guess that something has fallen over." Charles picked up the lamp that stood on the hall table, and walked to the foot of the stairs.
"I believe it was a picture," Celia said, at his side. "It sounded to me like glass breaking."
She ran up ahead of him, and rounded the halflanding. A little exclamation broke from her. "Oh, there's something on the stairs! Do hurry up with the lamp, Charles." She bent and groped for the thing her foot had kicked against. "Whatever can it be?" she wondered. Then Charles reached the half-landing, and the light he carried showed Celia what she held between her hands.
It was a human skull and the hollow eye-sockets glared up at her, while the teeth of the fleshless upper jaw grinned as though in macabre mockery.
Celia gave a shuddering cry, and dropped the hideous thing, shrinking back against the wall. "Oh Charles! Oh Charles!" she whispered, like a frightened child.
He was beside her in a moment, holding her in the circle of his arm, himself staring down at the skull at their feet. For a moment words apparently failed him.
Peter came up the stairs two at a time. "What is it?" he asked impatiently. Then he too saw, and stopped dead. "Gosh!" he gasped. Over his shoulder he jerked: "Don't come up, Margaret."
Chapter Three
For a moment they stared at one another; then Peter began to laugh. Mr. Ernest Titmarsh, far from being offended, beamed affably upon him. Peter pulled himself together as soon as he could, and said with a quiver in his voice: "I beg your pardon, but really it's rather funny. You see, whenever we catch sight of anyone wandering about in our grounds we think he's a ghost."
Mr. Titmarsh blinked at him. "Dear me, is that so indeed? A ghost, did you say?"
"Yes," Charles said gravely. "It's - it's an idiosyncrasy of ours."
Mr. Titmarsh replaced his hat upon his head, and seemed to give the matter some thought. Light broke upon him. "Of course, of course!" he said. "This is the Priory!"
"Didn't you know?" asked Peter, somewhat surprised.
"Now I come to look about me, yes," replied their eccentric visitor. "But I fear I am very absent-minded. Yes, yes, indeed, I owe you an apology. You are not, I suppose, interested in entomology?"
"I'm afraid I know very little about it," confessed Peter.
"An absorbing study," Mr. Titmarsh said with enthusiasm. "But it leads one into committing acts of trespass, as you perceive. Yes, I am much to blame. I will at once depart."
"Oh, don't do that!" Charles interposed. "We haven't the smallest objection to you - er - catching moths in our grounds. Now we know who you are we shan't take you for a ghost again."
"Really," said Mr. Titmarsh, "this is most kind. I repeat, most kind. Am I to understand that I have your permission to pursue my studies in your grounds? Tuttut, this puts me under quite an obligation. Two evenings since, I observed what I believe to be an oleander hawkmoth. Yes, my dear sir, actually that rarest of specimens. I have great hopes of adding it to my collection. That will be indeed a triumph."
"Well, in that case, we won't interrupt you any longer," Charles said. "We'll just wish you luck, and retire."
Mr. Titmarsh bowed with old-world courtesy, and as though his hobby suddenly called him, turned, and darted back amongst the trees.
"And there we are," said Charles. "Might as well live in a public park, as far as I can see. I wish I'd remembered to ask him if he was interested in skeletons."
"I admit it looked a bit fishy, finding him snooping about just at this moment," said Peter, "but somehow I see him in the role of house-breaker. We'd better go in and reassure the girls."
In the garden-hall they found Bowers, who had watched their proceedings with a gradual return to calm. He looked slightly sheepish when he learned who was the visiter, but he advanced the opinion that they had not heard the last of the Monk yet. This they were inclined to believe, but when they rejoined the girls they assumed the manner of those who had successfully laid a ghost.
Celia was not convinced, however. The discovery of the skeleton, she said, accounted for every strange noise they had heard, since its unquiet spirit was obviously haunting the scene of its ghastly end.