He was engaged, at my entrance, in some harsh dispute with a couple of other men, but came forward quickly enough when he saw me. Recognizing at once that any attempt at ingratiation would fail with this man, I entered at once upon my errand by asking a question direct enough to command his attention, if it did not insure the desired reply.
“Mr. Searles, when you purchased the house on Franklin Street, did you know enough about it to have an answer ready for any one who might declare it haunted?”
The abruptness of the attack produced its effect. Annoyance swept every hint of patience from face and manner, and he exclaimed in a tone which conveyed, only too openly, how disagreeable the subject was to him.
“Again!”
I smiled. It would not do to show how much I felt the total lack of sympathy in his manner.
“You will have trouble,” said I, “until it is proved that the occurrences which have provoked this report have a very natural and quite human source.”
He stopped in his nervous fidgeting and gave me a quick hard look.
“Who are you?” he asked, “and why has Mrs. Packard made you her messenger instead of coming herself?”
“I am her companion, engaged by Mayor Packard to stay with her during his contemplated absence. I am here instead of Mrs. Packard because it is she herself who is the present sufferer from the disagreeable experiences which attend life in the Franklin Street house.”
“Mrs. Packard?” His tone betrayed a complete incredulity. “Mrs. Packard? a woman of such strong good sense! I think you must have been misled by some foolish attempt at humor on her part. Does she know that you have come to me with this complaint?”
“She does not. She is not in a condition to be consulted on the subject. I am Mayor Packard’s emissary. He is very anxious about his wife.” Then as Mr. Searles continued unmoved, I added in a straightforward manner, and with all the earnestness I felt: “Mrs. Packard believes herself to have come face to face with an undoubted specter in the library of the house they have rented from you. She related the circumstances to her husband and to myself this very morning. It occurred, according to her story, several days ago; meantime her manner and appearance have shown a great change. Mayor Packard is not the only one who has noticed it. The whole household has been struck by her condition, though no one knew its cause until to-day. Of course, we do not believe in the specter; that was pure hallucination on her part. This we no more doubt than you do.”
“Then what do you want here?” he asked, after a moment of harsh scrutiny.
“Proof which will convince her that it was an hallucination and without the least basis in any spiritual fact,” I returned. “If you will give me a few minutes of your time, I will explain just what I mean and also make known to you my wishes. I can wait till you have finished your business with the gentlemen I see over there.”
He honored me with a look, which for the first time showed any appreciation of my feelings, and pushing open a door near by, called out to some one within:
“Here, Robinson, talk with this lady. Her business is not in my line.” Then, turning to me with a quick, “Step in, Madam,” he left me with the greatest abruptness and hurried back to the gentlemen awaiting him on the other side of the room.
I was considerably taken aback by this move, but knew no other course than to enter the room he had pointed out and pursue my conversation with whomever I should find there.
Alas! the gentleman who rose at my entrance was also one of the tall, thin and nervous type. But he was not without heart, like the other, as was soon made apparent to me. Very few human faces are plainer than the one I now searched for the encouragement of which I stood in such sore need, but also very few faces, handsome or otherwise, have the attraction of so pleasant a smile. Its affable greeting was followed by the hasty pushing forward of a chair and a kind inquiry as to what he could do for me.
My answer woke an immediate interest. “My name is Saunders,” I said. “I am at present an inmate of Mayor Packard’s house—a house belonging to Mr. Searles, and one which has its drawbacks.”
The meaning look with which I uttered the last sentence called forth an answering one. A flash of excitement broke over his features and he cast a quick glance at the door which fortunately had swung to at my entrance.
“Has—have they—has anything of a disagreeable nature happened to any one in this house?” he asked with ill-concealed perturbation. “I did not expect it during their tenantry, but if such has occurred, I am obliged to Mrs. Packard for letting me know. She promised to, you see, and—”
“She promised!” I cried.
“Yes; in joke no doubt, being at the time in a very incredulous state of mind. She vowed that she would let me know the very day she saw the lights or encountered anything in the house, which could be construed into a spiritual visitation. Has such a manifestation occurred?” he eagerly inquired. “Has it? has it? Am I to add her name to the list of those who have found the house uninhabitable?”
“That I am not ready to say,” was my cautious response. “Mrs. Packard, during the period of her husband’s candidacy, would scarcely wish to draw public attention to herself or these supernatural happenings by any such move. I hope that what I say to you on this subject will go no further.”
“You may rest assured that it will never become public property,” he assured me. “One person I am bound to tell; but that is all. That person is too much interested in the house’s good name to spread so damaging a story. An experience, more or less disagreeable, must have occurred to some member of the family,” continued Mr. Robinson. “Your presence here assures me of that. What kind of experience? The—manifestations have not always been of the same nature.”
“No; and that is what so engages my attention. These experiences differ so much in their character. Do you happen to know the exact nature of each? I have a theory which I long to substantiate. May I trust you with it?”
“You certainly may, Miss. No one has thought over this matter more earnestly than I have. Not because of any superstitious tendency on my part; rather from the lack of it. I don’t believe in spirits. I don’t believe in supernatural agencies of any kind; yet strange things do happen in that house, things which we find it hard to explain.”
“Mrs. Packard’s experience was this. She believes herself to have encountered in the library the specter of a man; a specter with a gaze so terrifying that it impressed itself upon her as an omen of death, or some other dire disaster. What have your other tenants seen?”
“Shadows mostly; but not always. Sometimes the outline of an arm projecting out of darkness; sometimes, the trace of steps on the hall floors, or the discovery in the morning of an open door which had been carefully closed at bedtime. Once it was the trailing of ghostly fingers across the sleeper’s face, and once a succession of groans rising from the lower halls and drawing the whole family from their beds, to find no one but themselves within the whole four walls. A clearly outlined phantom has been scarce. But Mrs. Packard has seen one, you say.”
“Thinks she has seen one,” I corrected. “Mayor Packard and myself both look upon the occurrence as a wholly imaginary one, caused by her secret brooding over the very manifestations you mention. If she could be convinced that these manifestations had a physical origin, she would immediately question the reality of the specter she now believes herself to have seen. To bring her to this point I am ready to exert myself to the utmost. Are you willing to do the same? If so, I can assure you of Mayor Packard’s appreciation.”
“How? What? You believe the whole thing a fraud? That all these tenants coming from various quarters manufactured all these stories and submitted to endless inconvenience to perpetuate a senseless lie?”