"He received us civilly, of course. He is quite a young fellow--in the Guards. But when Miles began to explain to him what we had come about, he stiffened. "'I suppose you belong to the Psychical Society?' he said. 'I can only repeat that I have nothing to tell, and I detest the whole subject.' "'Wait a moment,' said Miles, and as he went on I saw that Devereux changed. His face grew intent with interest and a queer sort of eagerness, and at last he started to his feet. "'Upon my soul,' he said, 'I believe you've run him to earth for me--the ghost, I mean, and if so, you shall have my endless gratitude. I'll go down to Hallinger with you at once--this afternoon, if you like, and see it out.' "He was so excited that he spoke almost incoherently, but after a bit he calmed down, and told us all he had to tell--and that was a good deal--which would indeed have been nuts for the Psychical Society. What Hunter had said was but a small part of the whole. It appeared that on succeeding to Hallinger, on the death of an uncle, young Devereux had made considerable changes in the house. He had, among others, opened out a small wing--a sort of round tower--which had been completely dismantled and bricked up for, I think he said, over a hundred years. There was some story about it. An ancestor of his--an awful gambler--had used the principal room in this wing for his orgies. Very queer things went on there, the finish up being the finding of old Devereux dead there one night, when his servants were summoned by the man he had been playing with--with whom he had had an awful quarrel. This man, a low fellow, probably a professional cardsharper, vowed that he had been robbed of a jewel which his host had staked, and it was said that a ring of great value had disappeared. But it was all hushed up--Devereux had really died in a fit--though soon after, for reasons only hinted at, the round tower was shut up, till the present man rashly opened it again. "Almost at once, he said, the annoyances, to use a mild term, began. First one, then another of the household were terrified out of their wits, just as we were, Leila. Devereux himself had seen it two or three times, the 'it,' of course, being his miserable old ancestor. A small man, with a big wig, and long, thin, claw-like fingers. It all corresponded. Mrs. Devereux is young and nervous. She could not stand it. So in the end the round tower was shut up again, all the furniture and hangings sold, and locally speaking, the ghost laid. That was all Devereux knew.