Then, with a sort of intuition, David felt that it was she who had already visited her sister's latest abode at such uncanny hours of gloom and mystery that her presence had given rise to the ghost legend. And with the consciousness that this was so came a hot flush of shame and remorse that he had so vilified Violet in his thoughts on the night of his long run from Chalfont. It was she whom he had seen standing at the end of the corridor on the first night of his ever-memorable tenancy of this sorrow-laden abode, and, no doubt, her earlier efforts at elucidating the dim tragedy which cloaked her sister's death had led to the eery experiences of Miss L'Estrange and Jenny. Well, thank goodness! he held nearly all the threads of this dark business in his hands now, and it would go hard with Van Hupfeldt if he crossed his path that night. For David resolved, with a smile which had in it a mixture of grimness and tenderness, that he would obey the letter of Violet's request while decidedly disobeying its spirit. She wished him to be "away from the flat between midnight and two A.M." Certainly he would be away; but not far away--near enough, indeed, to know who went into it and who came out, and some part of their business there if he saw fit. Violet, of course, might come and go as she pleased; not so Van Hupfeldt or any of his myrmidons. Thereupon, determined to oppose guile to guile, he dismissed his charwoman long before the usual time, and called the friendly hall-porter into consultation. "Jim," he said, when the lift shot up to his floor in response to a summons, "I guess you want a drink." Jim knew Harcourt's little ways by this time. "Well sir," he said, stepping forth, and unshipping the motor key, "I'm bound to admit that a slight lubrikytion wouldn't be amiss." "In fact, it might be a hit, a palpable hit. Well, step lively. Here's the whisky. Now, Jim, listen while I talk. I understand there is to be a meeting of ghosts here to-night--no, not a word yet; drink steadily, Jim--and it is up to you and me to attend the convocation. There is nothing to worry about. These spirits are likely to be less harmful than those you are imbibing; indeed, we may be called on to grab one or two of them, but they will turn out to be ordinary men. You're not afraid of a man, Jim?" "Not if 'e is a man, sir. But will there be any shootin'?" "Ah, you heard of that?" "People will talk of bullet-marks, sir, to say nothing of drops o' blood." "Drops of blood? Where?" "All round our front door. They wasn't there overnight, an' next day there was a revolver bullet stuck in your kitchen skirting-board."