“Don’t be amusing,” growled Arthur, thrown off his balance. “What I
meant was, I couldn’t sleep so I came out for a walk. This place
interests me.”
“I never knew you were an archæologist before, and a midnight
archæologist at that! The country simply swarms with ’em!” said the
ironical young man. “Or perhaps you’re a moth hunter? Or did you come
out to hear the nightingale? It’s rather late in the season.”
“See here, Alford, I don’t want you to get funny at my expense. I tell
you I came out for a walk. You’re not going to suggest I’m
trespassing, are you? If it comes to that, what are _you_ doing here?”
He heard Dick chuckle and went hot under the collar.
“I am attached to the estate: I thought you knew that,” said Dick at
last; “and one of my jobs is to challenge suspicious-looking
individuals at whatever hour they show themselves or their flash
lamps.”
“Oh, you saw the light, did you? I thought somebody would.” Arthur was
himself again. “The truth is, Dick, I had a horrible dream that woke
me up. I dreamt I saw that wretched Black Abbot, and the dream was so
vivid that I resolved to come along and have a look at the place. It
was on the edge of the cutting that he was last seen.”
“Oh, a ghost-hunter!” murmured Dick. “That of course explains
everything. You came armed, I see? Very wise!”
Arthur had been praying that this objectionable man would not notice
the steel crowbar he carried, but the eyes of the other were
peculiarly sharp, and there was just enough dawn light to reveal the
nature of the instrument he carried.
“You didn’t see the Black Abbot, I suppose?” said Dick, in his polite
conversational way. “No? I shouldn’t imagine you would. It’s rather
late for him. Our family ghosts keep early hours. They are a
respectable lot, and the Abbot, as you probably know, was a highly
respectable and even a religious man, though not, I believe, untouched
by the horrid voice of scandal.”
He was walking by Arthur’s side to the cut road as he spoke, and the
light was not good enough for him to see the dull flush that came to
that good-looking man’s face, but he could guess it.
“I don’t want to quarrel with you, Alford, but I have the greatest
objection to your being sarcastic at my expense. I don’t know why I
should explain anything to you, but you’ve been a good friend of mine
to-night and I’m telling you the truth. And really, it’s hardly
playing the game to doubt my word.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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