David started, not wholly because he thought Miss L'Estrange would be flattered by this tribute to her forcible style. "And I'm not one of your fanciful ones either," she went on, smirking at the effect she had made. "How often did this thing happen to you?" "Twice in three months." "Daytime? Night-time?" "Dead of night. The first time about two in the morning, the second time about three." "To me this is naturally fascinating," said David. "Do tell me--" "The first time, I was asleep in that front bed-room, when I suddenly found myself awake--couldn't tell why, for I hadn't long been in bed, and was tired. I found myself listening, heard some creaks about, nothing more than you can generally hear in a house in the dead of night, and I was thinking of going to sleep again, when all at once I seemed to scent violets somewhere. I wasn't certain at first, but the notion grew, and if it had been brimstone, as you said, I couldn't have been so overcome as I was--something so solemn and deathly in that fume of violets visiting anybody in the dark in that fashion. As I knew that Gwen Barnes, who poisoned herself in that very room, was fond of violets--for I had seen her both on and off the stage several times--you can guess whether I felt rummy or not. Pop went my little head under the bed-clothes, for I'll stand up to any living girl you care to mention, and send her home all the worse for it; but the dead have an unfair advantage, anyhow. The next minute I heard a bang--it sounded to me like the lid of one of my trunks dropping down--and this was followed by a scream. The scream did for me--I was upset for weeks. It was Jenny who had screamed; but, like a fool, I thought it was the ghost--I don't know what I thought; in fact, I just heard the scream, and lay me down and d'eed. When I came to myself, there was Jenny shivering at my side, with the light turned on, saying that a tall woman had been in the flat--" "Was Gwendoline Barnes in the flesh a tall girl?" asked David. "Pretty tall; one would have called her tall." "And Jenny was certain? She had really seen a woman?" "Quite certain." "In the light?" "No, in the dark." "Ah, that's not so good. And as to your trunk, had you left it locked?" "No, I don't think. It's certain anyway that something or somebody was at it that night; for next day I found the things rummaged." "Sure now? I don't imagine that you are very tidy." "The cheek! I tell you the things were rummaged." "And nothing stolen?" "Ghosts are not thieves. They only come back to pretend to themselves that they are still living in the old scenes, and that their bit of a fling is not all over forever. I can well imagine how the poor things feel, can't you? Of course, nothing was stolen, though I did miss something out of the trunk a day or two afterward--" "What was that?"