A little later he found a hairpin lying on the floor, and became still more convinced that his room must have been occupied by some member of the Willis household. The fact troubled him, however, not at all, and he laughed to himself as he recalled the gardener's nervousness of manner when he had drawn attention to the roses upon the mantelpiece. "Whoever has made herself at home here," he told himself, "must at any rate have a nice idea of comfort and the beauty of things. I can make every allowance for people who like flowers." He was stooping over the portmanteau which he was engaged in unpacking, and, at that moment, it seemed to him that he heard a faint sound in the house, as of the opening and shutting of a door. He raised himself to his knees and listened, but all was still. "I didn't think I was so imaginative," he muttered, after a moment. "I suppose that comes of being alone in a half-furnished house--so far away from everything, too." He glanced round the room and at the open window, which looked out upon the lawn--a lawn intersected by dark shadows and silver streaks of moonlight. "It never struck me before, either," he went on, "that there might be a ghost at Partinborough Grange; it's just the place for one." He laughed at himself, not being in reality nervous, and, if anything, rather enjoying the sense of his isolation. He decided that he would finish his unpacking quickly, and then make his way to the garden. The night was soft and balmy, and the air was fragrant with roses. It would be better there than in the house. He bent himself once more to his task, throwing out his belongings to either side of him in the careless way of a man. Then of a sudden, he paused, a pair of shoes in one hand, a case of razors in the other, and listened attentively. Another moment and he had dropped shoes and razors and started to his feet. He did not know if he was afraid, though certainly at the first moment a cold shiver had run down his spine, and there had been a peculiar sensation as if perspiration were about to break out on his brow. He felt hot and cold at the same time, and yet he was not conscious of any actual fear. It was such a strange thing to be happening in an empty house, and, at first, Mostyn had hardly believed his ears. But now there was no doubt about it--someone was in the hall, and that someone was playing the organ. The sound had at first come so softly that it had been really like a breath of wind stirring in the pipes; Mostyn had thought that it must be something of the sort, till he had remembered that there was practically no wind that night. Yet it was possible that the sound was due to some perfectly natural cause quite apart from human agency.