But sitting here I seem, I hope it isn't a very frantic remark,
it seems as though, if only my ears would let me, I should hear--
well, voices. It's just what you said about the silence. I
suppose it's the age of the place; it IS very old?'

'Pretty old, I suppose; it's worm-eaten and rat-eaten and tindery
enough in all conscience; and the damp doesn't exactly
foster it. It's a queer old shanty. There are two or three
accounts of it in some old local stuff I have. And of course
there's a ghost.'

'A ghost?' echoed Lawford, looking up.



CHAPTER TWELVE

What's in a name?' laughed Herbert. 'But it really is a queer
show-up of human oddity. A fellow comes in here, searching;
that's all.' His back was turned, as he stood staring absently
out, sipping his tea between his sentences. 'He comes in--oh,
it's a positive fact, for I've seen him myself, just sitting back
in my chair here, you know, watching him as one would a tramp in
one's orchard.' He cast a candid glance over his shoulder. 'First
he looks round, like a prying servant. Then he comes cautiously
on--a kind of grizzled, fawn-coloured face, middle-size, with big
hands; and then just like some quiet, groping, nocturnal
creature, he begins his precious search--shelves, drawers that
are not here, cupboards gone years ago, questing and nosing no
end, and quite methodically too, until he reaches the window.