As I crossed the second-floor hall, I passed the Swedish maid, walking toward Miss Octavia's room. I was somewhat annoyed to find, on looking over my shoulder to make sure of her destination, that she, too, had paused, her hand on Miss Octavia's door, and was watching me with interest. She vanished immediately; but to throw her off the track I went to my own room, closed the door noisily, and then came out quickly and ran up to the third floor.
Bassford Hollister's mysterious exit had lingered in my mind as the most curious incident of the eventful Friday night. Having been baffled in my effort to get hold of the architect's plans, my thought now was to await in the upper part of the house a repetition of the various phenomena that had so puzzled me. By the process of exclusion I had eliminated nearly every plausible theory, but if the ghost manifested himself with any sort of periodicity (and the hour of the chimney's queer behavior had been nine) I was now prepared to meet him in the regions he had chosen for his exploits. When it is remembered that I had always been most timorous, not at all anxious to shine in any heroic performances, it will be understood that the atmosphere of Hopefield Manor was exerting a stimulating effect upon my courage. Or, more likely, my inherent cowardice had been brought into subjection by my curiosity.
I had a pretty accurate knowledge by this time of the position and function of all the electric switches between the lower hall and the fourth floor, but I tested them as I ascended, glancing down now and then to make sure I was not observed. From the sound of voices in the library I judged that most of Cecilia's suitors must now have arrived, and so much the better, I argued; for with Miss Octavia and her niece fully occupied, I could the better carry on my ghost-hunt above stairs.
At a quarter before nine I switched off the lights on the third and fourth floors, and established myself at the head of the stairway, and quite near the trunk-room door. This door I had opened, as I fancied that if Bassford Hollister were at the bottom of the business, he would probably wish to find his way to the roof again. So far as I was able to manage it, the stage was in readiness for the entrance of the goblin. And I may record my impression, that as we wait for a visitation of this sort, it is with a degree of credence in things supernatural, to which we would not ordinarily confess. In spite of ourselves we expect something to appear, something unearthly, impalpable, and unresponsive to those tests we apply to the known and understood.
The clock below struck nine upon these meditations, and almost upon the last stroke I heard a sound that set my nerves tingling. I crouched in the dark waiting. Some one was coming toward me, but from where? The bottom of a well at midnight was not blacker than the fourth floor, but the switch lay ready to my hand, and my pockets were stuffed with matches of the sort that light anywhere. The stairways were all carpeted, as I have said, and yet some one was ascending bare treads, lightly, and with delays that suggested a furtive purpose. Meanwhile, as a background for this unreality, murmurs of talk and occasional laughter rose from the library.
This concealed stairway, wherever it was, could not be of interminable length, and I had counted, I think, fifteen steps of that strange ascent when it ceased. I heard a fumbling as of some one seeking a latch, and suddenly a light current of air swept by me, but its clean fresh quality was not in itself disturbing. I stooped and struck a match smartly on the carpet and at the same time clicked the switch. I should say that not more than ten seconds passed from the moment the soft rush of air had first advertised the opening of a passage near me until the hall was flooded with the glow of the electric lamps overhead. My match had also performed its office, but finding the electric current behaving itself normally, I blew it out. What I saw now interested me immensely.
In the solid wall, near the stair, and almost directly opposite the trunk-room, a narrow door had swung outward,—a neat contrivance, so light in its construction that it still swayed on its concealed hinges from the touch of the hand that had released it. How it had opened or what had become of the prowler who had unlatched it remained to be discovered. It seemed impossible that whoever or whatever had climbed the hidden stairway had descended, nor had I been conscious of a ghostly passing as on the previous night. I had only my senses to apply to this problem, and their efficiency was minimized for a moment by fear.
The opening in the wall engaged my attention at once, and I was steadied by the thought that here was a practical matter susceptible of investigation. I stepped within the door and lighted a candle; and just as the wick caught fire, click went a switch somewhere, and out went the hall lamps. But having, so to speak, put my foot to the mysterious stair I would not turn back, and I continued on down the steps.
Great was my astonishment to find that I had apparently stepped from a new into an old house. The stair treads were worn by long use, the plaster walls that inclosed them were battered and cracked, and I seemed to have plunged from the glory of Hopefield into some dim lost passage of a domicile of another era, that lay within or beneath the walls of the Manor. As I slowly descended, holding high my candle, I recalled, not without a qualm, the story of the British soldier whom tradition or superstition linked to the site of Miss Hollister's property. This stairway might certainly have been built in the early days of the republic, and it refuted my disdain of the ghost-myth on the theory that new houses are inhospitable to spirits.
At the foot of the stair I found two rooms, one on either side of a small hall, and these, also, were clearly part of an old house that seemed to be somehow merged into the Hollister mansion. I remembered now that the mansion stood wedged against a rough spur of rock, and that the front and rear entrances were upon different levels, and it was conceivable that the back part of the mansion might inclose these rooms of an earlier house that had occupied the same site; why they should have been retained was beyond me.
Through the carefully-preserved windows, many-paned and quaint, of these hidden rooms, the infolding walls of the new house were blank and black. An odd thing indeed, that Pepperton should have lent himself to the preservation of a commonplace and thoroughly uninteresting relic, for beyond doubt he must have countenanced it; and Miss Hollister's prompt removal of the plans from the architect's office became more enigmatical than ever.
One door only remained in this shell of the old house, and I hastened to fling it open, still lighting my way with a candle. Before me lay the coal cellar, at which I had merely glanced on the morning after my installation at Hopefield. I now began to get my bearings. I remembered two iron lids in the cemented surface of an area on the east side of the house where fuel was deposited, and mounting a few steps that were of recent construction, and had evidently been built to afford communication between the remnant of the old house and the subterranean portion of the new, I found to my relief and satisfaction beneath one of these openings a short ladder, through which the court might be reached. Here, then, the manner of ghostly ingress was illustrated by perfectly plausible means. The lid of the coal-hole was entirely withdrawn, and a bar of moonlight lay brightening upon a pile of anthracite at the foot of the ladder.
The ghost I believed to be still in the upper halls of the house, and now that I was in a position to watch the ladder by which he had entered I felt confident that I had cut off his retreat. I was surveying the cellar, when I heard faint sounds in a new direction. Far away under the house, and remote from the secret steps, some one was moving toward me, and rapidly, too! The ghost that I believed to have disappeared into the fourth-floor hall must then have changed the line of his retreat and descended by one of the regular stairways.
I blew out my candle and stood with my back to the wall of the long corridor on which opened the various store-rooms, the heating plant, laundry and other accessories of the modern house. My ghost was coming in haste,—a haste that did not harmonize with the stately tread of the spooks of popular superstition. A slower pace and I should doubtless have fled before him; but quick light steps echoed in the dark corridor, and I gathered courage from the thought that ghosts create echoes no more than they cast shadows.
As the steps drew nearer I prepared myself to spring upon him. I must unconsciously have taken a step, for he paused suddenly, stood still for a moment, then turned and scampered back the way he had come. After him I went as fast as I could run. The cement-paved corridor was four or five feet wide, and I plunged through the dark at my best speed. At the end of the corridor I was pretty certain of my quarry, and I made ready to grapple with him. Then as I plunged into the wall my hands touched a man's face and for a moment clutched the collar of his coat. He had been waiting for me to strike the wall, and as he slipped out of my grasp he ran back toward the coal cellar. I had struck the wall with a force that knocked the wind out of me, but I got myself together with the loss of only an instant and renewed pursuit. I had no fear but that, if he attempted to reach the open by means of the coal-hole, I should catch him on the ladder, and I sprinted for all I was worth to make sure of him.
My fleeting grasp of the man's collar and the agility with which he had slipped from my clasp had settled the ghost question, and I had now resolved the intruder into a common thief. As we neared the coal cellar I increased my pace, and felt myself gaining on him; though in the dark I saw nothing until I glimpsed the faint light from the coal-hole.
It had evidently occurred to him by this time that if he tried to climb the ladder I could easily pull him down by the legs; and when he reached the cross hall, he turned quickly and dived through the opening into the hidden chambers. I lost no time in following, but the fellow put up a good race, and as I reached the old stairway he was mounting it two steps at a time, as I judged from the sound. I had hoped to catch and dispose of him without alarming the house, but it seemed inevitable now that the chase would end in such fashion as to arouse the company assembled in the library.
I heard him stumble and fall headlong at the door above; then he shot off into the still darkened hall, and when I had gained the top I lost track of him for a moment. I paused and was about to strike a match, when he resumed his flight, and I was forced to grapple with the fact that some one else was pursuing him. I held my match unstruck upon this new disclosure, and stepped back within the concealed door and waited. Up and down the hall, two persons were running, and when they reached the ends of the corridor I heard hands touch the wall and the sound of dodging, and then almost instantly the two runners flashed by me again. The hall was so dark that I saw nothing, but as the runners passed the door I felt the rush of air caused by their flight.
Three or four times this had happened, and then, still without having made a light, I thrust out my foot at the next return of the unseen runners. Some one tripped and fell headlong, and I promptly flung myself upon him.
My prisoner's resistance engaged my best attention a moment, but when I had sat upon his legs and got hold of his struggling hands, some one stole softly by me. My prisoner, too, heard and was attentive. Not only did I experience the same sensation as on the previous night, of a passing near by, but I was conscious of the same faint perfume, as of a flower-scent half-caught in a garden at night, that had added to my mystification before. Then without the slightest warning the lights flashed on, and a door closed somewhere, but it was not the hidden one leading down into the remnant of the old house, for my prisoner's head and shoulders lay across its threshold. He sighed deeply, bringing my dazed wits back to him, and I found myself gazing into the blinking eyes of Lord Arrowood.
"Bounders, I say, bounders!" he gasped.
"In the circumstances, Lord Arrowood, I should not call names. Will you tell me what you mean by running through this house in this fashion? Stand up and give an account of yourself."
I helped him to his feet and bent over the stair-rail leading down to the third floor. Evidently our strange transactions beneath and above had not disturbed the assembled suitors and their hostesses; but in common decency Lord Arrowood must be disposed of promptly; there was no doubt about that.
"I was an ass to try it," muttered his lordship, pulling his tie into shape. "And now I want to get out. I want to go away from here."
He was tugging at the belt of his Norfolk coat, and something between it and his waistcoat evidently gave him concern. It did not seem possible that he was really a thief, with chattels concealed on his person, but he continued to smooth his jacket anxiously, meanwhile eyeing me apprehensively. He puffed hard from his recent game of hide-and-seek, and his face was wet with perspiration. Our conversation was carried on in half-whispers. He was so crestfallen that if it had n't been for the necessity of maintaining silence I should have laughed outright.
"Out with it, my lord. What have you stuck in your coat?"
"They're bounders, all the rest of 'em," he asserted doggedly, "but I believe you to be a gentleman."
"I thank you, Lord Arrowood, for this mark of confidence; but you have led me a hot chase through this house, and it is clear that you have something tucked under your coat that you have seized feloniously. We're standing here in the light, and our voices may at any moment attract Miss Hollister and the others in the library. Open your coat! I declare that even if you have lifted a bit of the Hollister plate I will let you go. My lord, if you please, stand and unfold yourself!"
Reluctantly, shamefacedly, and still breathing hard from his late exertions, Lord Arrowood of Arrowood, Hants, England, obeyed me. There were five buttons to the close-fitting jacket, and the loosening of every succeeding one seemed to give him pain. Then with his head slightly lifted as though in disdain of me, he held out for my observation a pie, in the pan in which it had been baked! The top crust was browned to a nicety; its edges were crimped neatly; and in spite of the fact that I had so lately dined sumptuously at Miss Hollister's hospitable board, at sight of this alluring pastry I experienced the sharp twinges of aroused appetite.
He held out for my observation a pie.
"Now you have it, and I hope you are satisfied," said Lord Arrowood. "Kindly allow me to retire by the way I came."
"First," I replied, sobered by the gravity of his manner, "it would interest me as a student of character to know just what species of pie lured you to this burglarious deed."
"I have reason to think," he answered, with tears in his eyes, "that it is a gooseberry. I was damned hungry, if you must know the truth, and having sampled the old lady's pies this morning, and had nothing to eat since, I saw the coal-hole open and ladder beneath, and the rest of it was easy. If you and the other chap had n't chased me all over the estate, I 'd have been off with my pie and no harm done. The old lady 's insane, you know, and has no manner of use for pies. The house is haunted in the bargain. When you had about winded me down in the cellar and cut me off from the ladder and chased me up here, the ghost took a hand, and if you had n't tripped me and sat on me the spirits would certainly have nailed me. O Lord, what a night!"
"It's your impression then that when you got up here somebody else broke into the game."
"Quite that, only I should say something, not somebody. It was a lighter step than yours. It had its hand on me once; but I could n't touch it. Damn me," he concluded hoarsely, "it was n't there to touch!"
"You are sure you speak the truth when you say that the coal-hole was open and that you found the ladder there when you came?"
"No manner of doubt of it. As I have already said, I believe you to be a gentleman, and between gentlemen certain confidences may pass that would n't be possible between a gentleman and those canaille down there."
He jerked his head scornfully to indicate the suitors below.
I bowed with such dignity as is possible in addressing a nobleman whom you have just caught in the act of lifting a gooseberry-pie from a lady's pantry,—a pie which you hold perforce in your hands.
"The fact is that I was without the price of food; and to repeat, I was beastly hungry."
"Poverty and hunger, my lord, are pardonable sins. And I dare say that Miss Hollister would be highly pleased to know that a gentleman of your high position—she told me herself that you were descended from the Jutish chiefs—had paid so high a compliment to the excellence of her pastry. Your only error, as I view the matter, lies in the fact that you have laid felonious hands upon a gooseberry-pie. All gooseberry pastries are sacred to Hezekiah. My impressions of Hezekiah are the pleasantest, and I cannot allow you to intervene between her and the pie I hold in my hands. If you will accompany me below, I will undertake to gain access to the pie vault, return this pie to its proper place, and hand you, at the foot of the ladder, an apple-pie in place of it. I dare say it never will be missed; but from what I know of Hezekiah, any trifling with her appetite would be a crime indictable at common law."
His lordship seemed reassured, and we were about to descend by the concealed stair when he arrested me.
"Mr. Ames, you are a gentleman, and possess a generous heart. We understand each other perfectly. And as I have every reason to believe that my suit is hopeless, I ask the loan of five dollars until I can confer with my friend the British consul at New York. I shall sail at once for England."
I was moved to pity by his humility. A man who, finding himself reduced to larceny by hunger, and being unable to win the woman of his choice, meekly yields to the inevitable, is not a fair mark for contumely. He stepped down before me into the dark stairway, and I closed the door after me and followed him.
I found my way to the pie pantry without difficulty, returned the gooseberry-pie to its proper shelf, chose an apple-pie and gave it, with a five-dollar note, to Lord Arrowood.
At the bottom of the ladder he pressed my hand feelingly, and expressed his gratitude in terms that would have touched a harder heart than mine.
Then having closed the coal-hole and hidden the ladder under a pile of wood, I resumed my pursuit of the ghost.