“Haunted, Uncle Lionel? That is a strange word to make use of. I have not forgotten my cousin, of course—nor am I likely ever to do so.” For a little while they all sat in silence. Nothing was heard save the crackling of the fire, or the dropping of a cinder; or, now and then, the moaning of the wintry wind, as it crept about the old house, trying the doors and windows, and seeming as though it were burdened with the weight of some terrible secret which it was striving to tell but could not. Suddenly Richard Dering spoke. “This is the eighth of February,” he said. “Nine months ago to-night, Percy Osmond was murdered, and under this very roof. To-night, at twelve o’clock, if what these people allege be true, footsteps will be heard—the noise of some one walking up and down the room where the murder was committed. Such being the case, what more easy than to prove or disprove the accuracy of at least this part of the story? Why not go, all three of us, a few minutes before twelve; and, accompanied by two or three of the servants who shall be chosen by the rest as a deputation, station ourselves close to the door of the nailed-up room, and there await the result? I do not for one moment anticipate that we shall either see or hear anything out of the ordinary way. Once let us prove this to the satisfaction of the servants, and I don’t think that we shall be troubled with much more nonsense about ghostly footsteps or appearances at Park Newton.” “Not a bad idea, Dick, by any means,” said the General. “What say you, Kester?” Kester had pushed back his chair from the table while Richard was speaking. There was a strange look on his face: in his eyes terror, on his lips a derisive smile. He emptied his glass before answering. “Faith, sir,” he said, “it seems to me that you attach far too much importance to the cackling of these idiots. I would treat their assertions with the contempt they deserve, and send the whole crew about their business before they were two days older. Your presence there, as it seems to me, would be like a confession of your belief in the possible truth of certain statements which are really so childish that no sensible person can treat them otherwise than with the most supreme contempt.” “I hardly agree with you there, Kester,” said General St. George. “Our presence would be like a guarantee of good faith, and would set the question at rest at once and for ever. At all events, the plan is one which I mean to try, and I should like both of you to be there with me. Richard, you can arrange for certain of the servants to be ready a few minutes before midnight.” “Really, sir, I should feel obliged if you would excuse me from accompanying you,” said Kester. “I have a bad headache to-night, and intend to get between the sheets as soon as possible.”