“There we are,” he rumbled, turning over the leaves. I read: “On August 8, 1858, a Fra Giulimo, of a peculiar religious brotherhood who occupied this house from 1851 to 1858, was found strangled at the foot of a poplar close by the entrance gate.” “I could never find out much about them, this brotherhood,” he added, looking up; “but they were, I believe, decent people. They left the place almost immediately after the crime. No arrest was ever made. Then”--referring to the book--“‘about the end of February or early in the March of 1863, a Mr. B---- J---- took the house. He was an antiquarian of European repute and a man of retired habits. With only two servants--an old soldier and his wife--he occupied The Park’--that is The Grove--‘from the spring of ’63 to the autumn of ’65.’ Then follow verbatim reports by the well-known Pepley of interviews with people who had heard Mr. J---- declare that a hushed voice sometimes called upon him by name in the night, from the poplar grove. Also, an interview with his manservant and with wife of latter, corroborating other statements. Mr. B---- J---- was found one September morning dead in the grove. Cause of death never properly established. The house next enters upon a period of neglect. It is empty; it is shunned. From ’65 right up to ’88 it stood so empty. It was then taken by a Mr. K----; but he only occupied it for two months, this K----. Three other tenants subsequently rented the place. Only one of them actually occupied it--for a week; the other, hearing, we presume, of its evil repute, never entered into residence. Seventeen years ago the last tragedy connected with the unpleasant Grove took place. An eccentric old bachelor took the house, and, in the summer of ’03, had a niece there to stay with him. The evidence clearly indicates to me that this unhappy one was highly neurotic--oh, clearly; so that the tragedy explains itself. She fell, or sprang, from her bedroom window to the drive one night in June, and was picked up quite dead at the foot of the first poplar in the grove. _Sacré!_ it is a morgue, that house!” He returned the book and sat watching me in silence for some moments. “Did you spend any time in the house, yourself?” I asked. “On four different occasions, Mr. Searles! It is only from certain of the rooms that the whispering is audible, and then only if the windows are open. You will notice, though, that all the tragedies occurred in the warm months when the windows would be so open.” “Did you note anything supernormal in this whispering?” “Nothing. You have read my explanation.” II Haufmann looked rather blank when we told him.