"That's just the point. Superstition. Otherwise solid and sane people wouldn't dream of moving into the Reamer mansion. And it's so silly." "It is?" "Of course. And that's why I'm here. I intend to prove, so the most stubborn will understand, that the house itself has nothing whatsoever to do with its own grim past; that the people who lived in it are to blame." It was a dull day and he was such an apparently sincere little man that I decided to keep the conversation alive. "I'm afraid you'll have a hard time proving it. Let's see--the first one was old Silas Reamer. He committed suicide there. That was sometime around 1925. Then--" "--His son, Henry Reamer, was found dead under mysterious circumstances two years later. Murder was obvious, but nothing has ever been done about it." I frowned in mock severity. "I don't like the way you put that, Professor. Do you imply that we New Englanders condone violence?" "Oh, not at all. There were just--no clues, from what I've learned. The next unfortunate, a renter named Miles McCormick, was found dead along with his wife and child as a result of lethal gas from a faulty stove." "That happened the year I was born. We have the old newspapers here, telling about it." "Those reports, along with other material are what I wish to study," Professor Waits said, then went on. "The house stood vacant for five years, until a Johnathan Hays bought it." "But Johnathan Hays never moved in. He died of a heart attack while carrying a chair through the front door." He beamed on me. "You are a remarkably alert young woman; well up in local history." "With no credit to me. You'd be hard put finding a citizen around here who doesn't know the history of the Reamer mansion." "Not 'of the Reamer mansion', my dear. Of the people who just happened to reap their ill-fortune there." "You insist the house had nothing to do with it?" "Nothing whatever." * * * * * "Professor--I wonder if you know how big a bite you've taken? If you go up in the hills hereabouts you'll find whole families living in dirt-floor houses. You'll find children who never heard of a bath or a telephone. But you won't find one person who would live in the Reamer mansion for a salary paid promptly every Saturday morning." "Nonetheless," Professor Waits replied, "the so-called jinx of the mansion, or any other maligned locality, is a matter of monstrous coincidence. The truth lies hidden in the lives of the people involved. I've been ferreting out that truth." "You mean this isn't a beginning, Professor?" He grasped his umbrella in a manner indicating he meant to spear a dragon in case there were any around, and said, "Oh my no! I've been tracing the lives of the principals in this drama for some time. It involves long, tedious work. I must not only dig into the lives of the unfortunates themselves, but also into those of kin; even--in some cases--friends." "What did you find out about the murder?"