Transcriber's note: Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_). THE HAUNTING OF LOW FENNEL * * * * * _UNIFORM WITH THIS VOLUME._ ADVENTURES OF CAPTAIN KETTLE. BY C. J. CUTCLIFFE HYNE. THE LOVERS OF YVONNE. BY RAFAEL SABATINI. THE MARRIAGE OF MARGARET. BY E. M. ALBANESI. THE SECRET WAY. BY J. S. FLETCHER. CAPTAIN KETTLE, K.C.B. BY C. J. CUTCLIFFE HYNE. * * * * * THE HAUNTING OF LOW FENNEL by SAX ROHMER Author of "Brood of the Witch Queen," "The Quest of the Sacred Slipper," etc., etc. London: C. Arthur Pearson, Ltd. Henrietta Street, W.C. 2 First Published 1920 Reprinted 1924 Printed in Great Britain by Butler & Tanner Ltd., Frome and London CONTENTS PAGE THE HAUNTING OF LOW FENNEL 11 THE VALLEY OF THE JUST 61 THE BLUE MONKEY 97 THE RIDDLE OF RAGSTAFF 119 THE MASTER OF HOLLOW GRANGE 157 THE CURSE OF A THOUSAND KISSES 189 THE TURQUOISE NECKLACE 213 The Haunting of Low Fennel I "There's Low Fennel," said Major Dale. We pulled up short on the brow of the hill. Before me lay a little valley carpeted with heather, purple slopes hemming it in. A group of four tall firs guarded the house, which was couched in the hollow of the dip--a low, rambling building, in parts showing evidence of great age and in other parts of the modern improver. "That's the new wing," continued the Major, raising his stick; "projecting out this way. It's the only addition I've made to the house, which, as it stood, had insufficient accommodation for the servants." "It is a quaint old place." "It is, and I'm loath to part with it, especially as it means a big loss." "Ah! Have you formed any theories since wiring me?" "None whatever. I've always been a sceptic, Addison, but if Low Fennel is not haunted, I'm a Dutchman, by the Lord Harry!" I laughed reassuringly, and the two of us descended the slope to the white gate giving access to a trim gravel path flanked by standard roses. Mrs. Dale greeted us at the door. She was, as I had heard, much younger than the Major, and a distinctly pretty woman. In so far Dame Rumour was confirmed; other things I had heard of her, but I was not yet in a position to pass judgment. She greeted me cordially enough, although women are usually natural actresses. I thought that she did not suspect the real object of my visit. Tea was served in a delightful little drawing-room which bore evidence of having but recently left the hands of London decorators, but when presently I found myself alone with my host in the Major's peculiar sanctum, the real business afoot monopolised our conversation.