elsewhere, don’t you? You must be very fond of fresh air, Mr Hardcastle,” he continued as they left the room.
“How do you make that out?” demanded the other.
“To go for a stroll on a night like this,” said Drummond. “I should have thought that a book and a whisky and soda would have been preferable.”
“Then why don’t you follow your own advice?”
“Ah! it was different in our case. You see, it is only on foggy nights that the ghost is supposed to walk.”
“What is all this rot about a ghost?” said Hardcastle contemptuously. “I reckon the ghost isn’t made yet that I shall ever see.”
“Do not scoff, Mr Hardcastle, at things beyond your ken,” said Drummond reprovingly. “What would your housekeeper say if she heard you?”
The other paused and stared at him.
“Housekeeper!” he cried. “What fly has stung you this time? If there’s a housekeeper here it’s the first I’ve heard of it.”
“Really: you surprise me.”
Drummond stopped suddenly and began to sniff the air.
“By the way, Ted,” he remarked, “which was the room you told me was haunted? The second from the top of the stairs, wasn’t it?”
And before anyone realised what he was going to do, he flung the door open.
“Most extraordinary,” he said blandly. “Do you use scent, Mr Hardcastle? Or is it Mr Slingsby? But I don’t see any ghost, Ted.”
He let the light of his torch travel round the room, until it finally rested on the bed.
“Oh!” he cried, covering his eyes with his hand, “is that your nightie, Mr Hardcastle? Or yours, Mr Slingsby? It makes me go all over goosey.”
But by this time Hardcastle had recovered from his surprise, and there was murder in his eyes.
“How dare you go butting into a lady’s bedroom,” he shouted furiously. “Get out of it, you damned meddling young swine.”
He seized Drummond by the arms, and then for half a minute there ensued a struggle the more intense because neither man moved.
It was just a trial of strength, and the others watched it breathlessly. For to all of them it seemed that far more depended on the result than what happened at the moment. It was the first clash between the two men: the outcome would be an omen for the future.
Their breathing came faster: the sweat stood out on both their foreheads. And then, after what seemed an eternity, Drummond began to smile, and the other to curse. Slowly and inexorably Hardcastle was forced back, and then Drummond relaxed his hold.
“Not this time, Percy,” he remarked quietly. “And I must really apologise for entering the lady’s bedroom. It’s this confounded ghost business that is responsible for it. By the way, where is she? Did you carelessly lose her in the fog?”
“What the hell is that to do with you?” snarled Hardcastle.
“My dear fellow!” Drummond lifted his hands in horror. “As the president of several watch committees, to say nothing of societies for moral uplift, the thought of the owner of that delicious garment wandering forlornly over Dartmoor distresses me beyond words!”
The other looked at him sullenly: the type was a new one to him. Accustomed all his life to being top dog, either by physical strength or through sheer force of will, he found himself confronted by a man who was his match in both.
“You needn’t worry yourself,” he muttered. “My daughter is in Plymouth.”
“And a charming spot it is, too,” boomed Drummond genially. “I must give you the address of the Girls’ Home from Home there: or is it the Decayed Gentlewoman’s Aid Post? Well, well – to think of that now. The jolly old daughter in Plymouth of all places! Happy days we used to have there, didn’t we, Peter, prancing along the Hoe?”
His torch, in apparently a haphazard way, was flashing about the room as he rambled on, and suddenly it picked up a box of cigarettes lying open on the dressing-table.
“But how careless of her, Mr Hardcastle! he cried. “They will all get
“How do you make that out?” demanded the other.
“To go for a stroll on a night like this,” said Drummond. “I should have thought that a book and a whisky and soda would have been preferable.”
“Then why don’t you follow your own advice?”
“Ah! it was different in our case. You see, it is only on foggy nights that the ghost is supposed to walk.”
“What is all this rot about a ghost?” said Hardcastle contemptuously. “I reckon the ghost isn’t made yet that I shall ever see.”
“Do not scoff, Mr Hardcastle, at things beyond your ken,” said Drummond reprovingly. “What would your housekeeper say if she heard you?”
The other paused and stared at him.
“Housekeeper!” he cried. “What fly has stung you this time? If there’s a housekeeper here it’s the first I’ve heard of it.”
“Really: you surprise me.”
Drummond stopped suddenly and began to sniff the air.
“By the way, Ted,” he remarked, “which was the room you told me was haunted? The second from the top of the stairs, wasn’t it?”
And before anyone realised what he was going to do, he flung the door open.
“Most extraordinary,” he said blandly. “Do you use scent, Mr Hardcastle? Or is it Mr Slingsby? But I don’t see any ghost, Ted.”
He let the light of his torch travel round the room, until it finally rested on the bed.
“Oh!” he cried, covering his eyes with his hand, “is that your nightie, Mr Hardcastle? Or yours, Mr Slingsby? It makes me go all over goosey.”
But by this time Hardcastle had recovered from his surprise, and there was murder in his eyes.
“How dare you go butting into a lady’s bedroom,” he shouted furiously. “Get out of it, you damned meddling young swine.”
He seized Drummond by the arms, and then for half a minute there ensued a struggle the more intense because neither man moved.
It was just a trial of strength, and the others watched it breathlessly. For to all of them it seemed that far more depended on the result than what happened at the moment. It was the first clash between the two men: the outcome would be an omen for the future.
Their breathing came faster: the sweat stood out on both their foreheads. And then, after what seemed an eternity, Drummond began to smile, and the other to curse. Slowly and inexorably Hardcastle was forced back, and then Drummond relaxed his hold.
“Not this time, Percy,” he remarked quietly. “And I must really apologise for entering the lady’s bedroom. It’s this confounded ghost business that is responsible for it. By the way, where is she? Did you carelessly lose her in the fog?”
“What the hell is that to do with you?” snarled Hardcastle.
“My dear fellow!” Drummond lifted his hands in horror. “As the president of several watch committees, to say nothing of societies for moral uplift, the thought of the owner of that delicious garment wandering forlornly over Dartmoor distresses me beyond words!”
The other looked at him sullenly: the type was a new one to him. Accustomed all his life to being top dog, either by physical strength or through sheer force of will, he found himself confronted by a man who was his match in both.
“You needn’t worry yourself,” he muttered. “My daughter is in Plymouth.”
“And a charming spot it is, too,” boomed Drummond genially. “I must give you the address of the Girls’ Home from Home there: or is it the Decayed Gentlewoman’s Aid Post? Well, well – to think of that now. The jolly old daughter in Plymouth of all places! Happy days we used to have there, didn’t we, Peter, prancing along the Hoe?”
His torch, in apparently a haphazard way, was flashing about the room as he rambled on, and suddenly it picked up a box of cigarettes lying open on the dressing-table.
“But how careless of her, Mr Hardcastle! he cried. “They will all get
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