“But about Mr. Dering—Mr. Lionel, I mean? Which of the servants was it that saw his ghost?” “I am unable to give you any details, Miss Piper, as I never condescend to listen to the gossip of my inferiors; but I believe it to be the general talk in the servants’ hall that the ghost of Mr. Lionel has been seen three or four times slowly pacing the big corridor by moonlight.” “How were the idiots to know that it was Mr. Lionel Dering?” asked Piper with a toss of the head. “Not one of them ever saw him when he was alive.” “Yes, Jane Minnows saw him in court during the trial, and she knew the ghost the moment she saw it.” “But then Jane Minnows was a terrible storyteller, and just as likely as not to invent all about the ghost simply to get herself talked about. But tell me, Mr. Finch, have you not noticed the remarkable likeness that exists between Mr. Richard Dering and his poor brother?” “As a gentleman of discernment, Miss Piper, I have noticed the likeness of which you speak. He has the very same nose, the very same hands, the very same way of sitting in his chair. And then the voice! I give you my word of honour that when Mr. Richard yesterday called out rather suddenly ‘Finch,’ you might have knocked me down with a cork. It sounded for all the world as if my poor master had come back from the grave, and had called to me just as he used to do.” “You are not one of those, Mr. Finch, who believed in the guilt of Mr. Dering?” “I never did believe in it and I never will to the last day of my life,” said Finch, sturdily. “No one, who knew Mr. Lionel as I knew him, could harbour such a thought for a single moment.” “Uncle Pearce says exactly the same as you. ‘No power on earth could make me believe it.’ Them’s his very words. But I say, Mr. Finch, isn’t the old General a darling?” “Yes, Miss Piper, I approve of the General—I approve of him very much indeed. But Mr. Kester St. George is a sort of person whom I would never condescend to engage as my employer. I don’t like that gentleman. It seems a strange thing to say, but he has never looked his proper self since the night of the murder. His man tells me that he has to drench himself with brandy every morning before he can dress himself. Who knows? Perhaps it’s the ghosts. They’re enough to turn any man’s brain.” “I know that I shouldn’t like to go after dark anywhere near where the murder was done,” said Miss Piper. “It’s a good job they have nailed the door up. There’s no getting either in or out of the room now.” “And yet they do say,” remarked Finch, “that on the eighth of every month—you know the murder was done on the eighth of May—a little before midnight, footsteps can be heard—the noise of some one walking about in the nailed-up room. You, as the niece of Mr. Pearce, have not been told this, but it has been known to me all along.” “But you don’t believe it, Mr. Finch?”