"No, my lord. She didn't see anything, but this morning she found finger-marks on the top of his Lordship's desk." "Pooh! What of that? One of the servants may have gone in there out of curiosity." "But what would anybody be doing there in the night, I should like to know? And Susan says those marks could only 'ave been made last night, my lord." "Why?" "On account of the dust, my lord. It takes time for dust to settle and a 'ousemaid, who knows 'er business, can tell, after she's been in a place a couple of months, just about 'ow long it's been since any particular piece of furniture has been dusted. Aye, Susan knows, my lord. No young 'ousemaid can pull the wool over 'er eyes, I can tell you." "Does every one know of Susan's suspicions?" "No, my lord. Susan's a sensible woman, and though she was frightened something terrible, she only told Mrs. Eversley and Mrs. Eversley told me and we three agreed we'd hold our tongues. Every one's that upset as it is, that they'd all 'ave 'ighstrikes if they knew that It was walking." "Don't be a fool, Douglas. No one believes in ghosts nowadays. But even if there were such things, an intangible spirit couldn't possibly leave finger-marks behind it." "But, my lord, if you'll excuse me, my aunt's cousin--" began the butler, but Cyril cut him short. "I have no time now to hear about your aunt's cousin, though no doubt it is a most interesting story. Send Susan to me at once." "Very good, my lord." Susan had, however, no further information to impart. She was positive that the marks must have been made some time during the night. "And it's my belief they were made by a skeleton hand," she added. "And as for going into that room again, indeed I just couldn't, not for nobody, meaning no disrespect to your Lordship; and as for the other 'ousemaids, they'll not go near the place either and haven't been since the murder." "Very well, Susan, I shall not ask you to do so. Those rooms shall not be opened again till this mystery is cleared up. I will go now and lock them up myself." "Thank you, my lord." Striding rapidly across the hall, Cyril opened the door of the library. This part of the castle had been equipped with electric light and steam heat, and as he stepped into the darkness, the heavy-scented air almost made him reel. Having found the switch, he noticed at once that the room had indefinably changed since he had been in it last. Notwithstanding the heat, notwithstanding the flood of crimson light, which permeated even the farthest corners, it had already assumed the chill, gloomy aspect of an abandoned apartment.