“It was the suddenness of it,” said George, sheepishly; “and besides, I didn’t look for seein’ ’im in the bar. There’s only a glimmer of light there, and ’e was sitting on the floor behind the bar. I nearly trod on ’im.” “Oh, you’ll never make a man, George,” said Malcolm. “Well, it took me unawares,” said the waiter. “Not that I’d have gone to the bar by myself if I’d known ’e was there, and I don’t believe you would either, sir.” “Nonsense!” said Malcolm. “I’ll go and fetch him in.” “You don’t know what it’s like, sir,” said George, catching him by the sleeve. “It ain’t fit to look at by yourself, it ain’t, indeed. It’s got the—_What’s that?_” They all started at the sound of a smothered cry from the staircase and the sound of somebody running hurriedly along the passage. Before anybody could speak, the door flew open and a figure bursting into the room flung itself gasping and shivering upon them. “What is it? What’s the matter?” demanded Malcolm. “Why, it’s Mr. Hirst.” He shook him roughly and then held some spirit to his lips. Hirst drank it greedily and with a sharp intake of his breath gripped him by the arm. “Light the gas, George,” said Malcolm. The waiter obeyed hastily. Hirst, a ludicrous but pitiable figure in knee-breeches and coat, a large wig all awry and his face a mess of grease paint, clung to him, trembling. “Now, what’s the matter?” asked Malcolm. “I’ve seen it,” said Hirst, with a hysterical sob. “O Lord, I’ll never play the fool again, never!” “Seen what?” said the others. “Him—it—the ghost—anything!” said Hirst, wildly. “Rot!” said Malcolm, uneasily. “I was coming down the stairs,” said Hirst. “Just capering down—as I thought—it ought to do. I felt a tap—” He broke off suddenly and peered nervously through the open door into the passage. “I thought I saw it again,” he whispered. “Look—at the foot of the stairs. Can you see anything?” “No, there’s nothing there,” said Malcolm, whose own voice shook a little. “Go on. You felt a tap on your shoulder—” “I turned round and saw it—a little wicked head and a white dead face. Pah!” “That’s what I saw in the bar,” said George. “’Orrid it was—devilish!” Hirst shuddered, and, still retaining his nervous grip of Malcolm’s sleeve, dropped into a chair. “Well, it’s a most unaccountable thing,” said the dumbfounded Malcolm, turning round to the others. “It’s the last time I come to this house.” “I leave to-morrow,” said George. “I wouldn’t go down to that bar again by myself, no, not for fifty pounds!” “It’s talking about the thing that’s caused it, I expect,” said one of the men; “we’ve all been talking about this and having it in our minds. Practically we’ve been forming a spiritualistic circle without knowing it.” “Hang the old gentleman!” said Malcolm, heartily. “Upon my soul, I’m half afraid to go to bed. It’s odd they should both think they saw something.”