The Mayor's Wife Part 11

"Mrs. Packard's experience was this. She believes herself to have encountered in the library the specter of a man; a specter with a gaze so terrifying that it impressed itself upon her as an omen of death, or some other dire disaster. What have your other tenants seen?"

"Shadows mostly; but not always. Sometimes the outline of an arm projecting out of darkness; sometimes, the trace of steps on the hall floors, or the discovery in the morning of an open door which had been carefully closed at bedtime. Once it was the trailing of ghostly fingers across the sleeper's face, and once a succession of groans rising from the lower halls and drawing the whole family from their beds, to find no one but themselves within the whole four walls. A clearly outlined phantom has been scarce. But Mrs. Packard has seen one, you say."

"Thinks she has seen one," I corrected. "Mayor Packard and myself both look upon the occurrence as a wholly imaginary one, caused by her secret brooding over the very manifestations you mention. If she could be convinced that these manifestations had a physical origin, she would immediately question the reality of the specter she now believes herself to have seen. To bring her to this point I am ready to exert myself to the utmost. Are you willing to do the same? If so, I can a.s.sure you of Mayor Packard's appreciation."

"How? What? You believe the whole thing a fraud? That all these tenants coming from various quarters manufactured all these stories and submitted to endless inconvenience to perpetuate a senseless lie?"

"No, I don't think that. The tenants were honest enough, but who owned the house before Mr. Searles?" I was resolved to give no hint of the information imparted to me by Mrs. Packard.

"The Misses Quinlan, the two maiden ladies who live next door to Mayor Packard."

"I don't know them," said I truthfully.

"Very worthy women," Mr. Robinson a.s.sured me. "They are as much disturbed and as completely puzzled as the rest of us over the mysterious visitations which have lessened the value of their former property. They have asked me more than once for an explanation of its marked unpopularity. I felt foolish to say ghosts, but finally I found myself forced to do so, much to my lasting regret."

"How? Why?" I asked, with all the force of a very rapidly increasing curiosity.

"Because its effect upon them has been so disastrous. They were women of intelligence previous to this, one of them quite markedly so, but from that day they have given evidence of mental weakness which can only be attributed to their continual brooding over this mysterious topic. The house, whose peculiarities we are now discussing, was once their family homestead, and they shrink from the reproach of its unfortunate reputation. What! you don't think so?" he impetuously asked, moved, perhaps, by my suggestive silence. "You are suspicious of these two poor old women? What reason have you for that, Miss Saunders? What motive could they have for depreciating the value of what was once their own property?"

So he knew nothing of the lost bonds! Mrs. Packard had made no mistake when she a.s.sured me of the secrecy with which they had endured their misfortune. It gave me great relief; I could work more safely with this secret unshared. But the situation called for dissimulation. It was with anything but real openness that I declared:

"You can not calculate the impulses of an affected mind. Jealousy of the past may influence these unfortunate women. They possibly hate to see strangers in the rooms made sacred by old a.s.sociations."

"That is possible, but how could they, shut up in a house, separated from yours by a distance of several feet, be held accountable for the phenomena observed in 393? There are no means of communication between the two buildings; even the doors, which once faced each other across the dividing alley, have been closed up. Interference from them is impossible."

"No more impossible than from any other outside source. Is it a fact that the doors and windows of this strangely haunted house were always found securely locked after each occurrence of the phenomena you have mentioned?"

"So I have been told by every tenant I have questioned, and I was careful to question them, I a.s.sure you."

"That settles the matter in my mind," I a.s.serted. "These women know of some means of entrance that has escaped general discovery. Cunning is a common attribute of the unsettled brain."

"And they are very cunning. Miss Saunders, you have put a totally new idea into my head. I do not place much stress upon the motive you have attributed to them, nor do I see how the appearances noted could have been produced by these two antiquated women; but the interest they have displayed in the effect these have had upon others has been of the most decided nature. They have called here after the departure of every fresh tenant, and it was all that I could do to answer their persistent inquiries. It is to them and not to Mr. Searles I feel bound to report the apparition seen by Mrs. Packard."

"To them!" I e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed in amazement. "Why to them? They no longer have a proprietary interest in the house."

"Very true, but they long ago exacted a promise from me to keep a strict account of such complaints as were raised against the house. They, in short, paid me to do so. From time to time they have come here to read this account. It annoys Mr. Searles, but I have had considerable patience with them for reasons which your kind heart will instantly suggest."

I thought of the real pathos of the situation, and how much I might increase his interest by giving him the full details of their pitiful history, and the maddening hopes it engendered of a possible discovery of the treasure they still believed to be hidden in the house. What I said, however, was this:

"You have kept an account, you say, of the varied phenomena seen in this house? You have that account now?"

"Yes, Miss Saunders."

"Let us look it over together. Let us see if it does not give us some clue to the mystery puzzling us."

He eyed me doubtfully, or as much so as his great nature would allow.

Meantime, I gauged my man. Was he to be thoroughly and unequivocally trusted? His very hesitation in face of his undoubted sympathy with me seemed to insure that he was. At all events, the occasion warranted some risk on my part. At least I persuaded myself that it did; so without waiting for his reply, I earnestly remarked:

"The matter is more serious than you suppose. If the mayor were not unavoidably called away by his political obligations, he would add his entreaties to mine for a complete sifting of this whole affair.

The Misses Quinlan may very well be innocent of inciting these manifestations; if so, we can do them no harm by a little confidential consideration of the affair from the standpoint I have given you. If they are not, then Mr. Searles and Mayor Packard should know it."

It appeared to convince him. His homely face shone with the fire of sudden interest and resolve, and, reaching for a small drawer at the right of his desk, he opened it and drew forth a folded paper which he proceeded to open before me with the remark:

"Here is a report that I have kept for my own satisfaction. I do not feel that in showing it to you I am violating any trust reposed in me by the Misses Quinlan. I never promised secrecy in the matter."

I glanced at the paper, all eagerness. He smiled and pushed it toward me. This is what I read:

First tenant, Mr. Hugh Dennison and family.

Night 1: Heard and saw nothing.

Night 2: The entire household wakened by a scream seemingly coming from below. This was twice repeated before Mr. Dennison could reach the hall; the last time in far distant and smothered tones. Investigation revealed nothing. No person and no trace of any persons, save themselves, could be found anywhere in the house. Uncomfortable feelings, but no alarm as yet.

Night 3: No screams, but a sound of groaning in the library.

The tall clock standing near the drawing-room door stopped at twelve, and a door was found open which Mr. Dennison is sure he shut tight on retiring. A second unavailing search. One servant left the next morning.

Night 4: Footfalls on the stairs. The library door, locked by Mr.

Dennison's own hand, is heard to unclose. The timepiece on the library mantel-shelf strikes twelve; but it is slightly fast, and Mr. and Mrs. Dennison, who have crept from their room to the stair-head, listen breathlessly for the deep boom of the great hall clock--the one which had stopped the night before. No light is burning anywhere, and the hall below is a pit of darkness, when suddenly Mrs. Dennison seizes her husband's arm and, gasping out, "The clock, the clock!" falls fainting to the floor. He bends to look and faintly, in the heart of the shadows, he catches in dim outline the face of the clock, and reaching up to it a spectral hand. Nothing else--and in another moment that, too, disappears; but the silence is something awful--the great clock has stopped.

With a shout he stumbles downward, lights up the hall, lights up the rooms, but finds nothing, and no one. Next morning the second servant leaves, but her place is soon supplied by an applicant we will call Bess.

Night 5: Mrs. Dennison sleeps at a hotel with the children. Mr.

Dennison, revolver in hand, keeps watch on the haunted stairway.

He has fastened up every door and shutter with his own hand, and with equal care extinguished all lights. As the hour of twelve approaches, he listens breathlessly. There is certainly a stir somewhere, but he can not locate it, not quite satisfy himself whether it is a footfall or a rustle that he hears. The clock in the library strikes twelve, then the one in the hall gives one great boom, and stops. Instantly he raises his revolver and shoots directly at its face. No sound from human lips answers the discharge of the weapon. In the flash which for a moment has lighted up the whole place, he catches one glimpse of the broken dial with its two hands pointing directly at twelve, but nothing more. Then all is dark again, and he goes slowly back to his own room.

The next day he threw up his lease.

Second tenant: Mrs. Crispin.

Stayed but one night. Would never tell us what she saw.

Third tenant: Mrs. Southwick. Hires Bess for maid-of-all-work, the only girl she could get.

Night 1: Unearthly lights shining up through the house, waking the family. Disappeared as one and all came creeping out into the hall.

Night 2: The same, followed by deep groans. Children waked and shrieked.

Night 3: Nothing.

Night 4: Lights, groans and strange shadows on the walls and ceilings of the various hallways. Family give notice the next day, but do not leave for a week, owing to sickness. No manifestations while doctor and nurses are in the house.

House stands vacant for three months. Bess offers to remain in it as caretaker, but her offer is refused.

Police investigate.

An amusing farce.

One of them saw something and could not be laughed out of it by his fellows. But the general report was unsatisfactory. The mistake was the employment of Irishmen in a task involving superst.i.tion.

Fourth tenant: Mr. Weston and family.

Remain three weeks. Leaves suddenly because the nurse encountered something moving about in the lower hall one night when she went down to the kitchen to procure hot water for a sick child. Bess again offered her services, but the family would not stay under any circ.u.mstances.

Another long period without tenant.

Mr. Searles tries a night in the empty house. Sits and dozes in library till two. Wakes suddenly. Door he has tightly shut is standing open. He feels the draft. Turns on light from dark lantern. Something is there--a shape--he can not otherwise describe it. As he stares at it, it vanishes through doorway. He rushes for it; finds nothing. The hall is empty; so is the whole house.