Looking at myself in the restaurant's mirrors, it seemed to me that I had not much benefited by my week-end. Next morning I wrote out all my Holmescroft notes at fullest length, in the hope that by so doing I could put it all behind me. But the experience worked on my mind, as they say certain imperfectly understood rays work on the body. I am less calculated to make a Sherlock Holmes than any man I know, for I lack both method and patience, yet the idea of following up the trouble to its source fascinated me. I had no theory to go on, except a vague idea that I had come between two poles of a discharge, and had taken a shock meant for some one else. This was followed by a feeling of intense irritation. I waited cautiously on myself, expecting to be overtaken by horror of the supernatural, but my self persisted in being humanly indignant, exactly as though it had been the victim of a practical joke. It was in great pains and upheavals--that I felt in every fibre but its dominant idea, to put it coarsely, was to get back a bit of its own. By this I knew that I might go forward if I could find the way. After a few days it occurred to me to go to the office of Mr. J.M.M. Baxter--the solicitor who had sold Holmescroft to M'Leod. I explained I had some notion of buying the place. Would he act for me in the matter? Mr. Baxter, a large, greyish, throaty-voiced man, showed no enthusiasm. “I sold it to Mr. M'Leod,” he said. “It 'ud scarcely do for me to start on the running-down tack now. But I can recommend--” “I know he's asking an awful price,” I interrupted, “and atop of it he wants an extra thousand for what he calls your clean bill of health.” Mr. Baxter sat up in his chair. I had all his attention. “Your guarantee with the house. Don't you remember it?” “Yes, yes. That no death had taken place in the house since it was built: I remember perfectly.” He did not gulp as untrained men do when they lie, but his jaws moved stickily, and his eyes, turning towards the deed boxes on the wall, dulled. I counted seconds, one, two, three--one, two, three up to ten. A man, I knew, can live through ages of mental depression in that time. “I remember perfectly.” His mouth opened a little as though it had tasted old bitterness. “Of course that sort of thing doesn't appeal to me.” I went on. “I don't expect to buy a house free from death.” “Certainly not. No one does. But it was Mr. M'Leod's fancy--his wife's rather, I believe; and since we could meet it--it was my duty to my clients at whatever cost to my own feelings--to make him pay.” “That's really why I came to you. I understood from him you knew the place well.” “Oh, yes. Always did. It originally belonged to some connections of mine.” “The Misses Moultrie, I suppose. How interesting! They must have loved the place before the country round about was built up.” “They were very fond of it indeed.”