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Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
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This work is out of copyright in countries with a copyright
period of 70 years or less, after the year of the author's death.
If it is under copyright in your country of residence,
do not download or redistribute this file.
Original content added by RGL (e.g., introductions, notes,
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RGL e-Book Cover
Based on an image created with Microsoft Bing software
THE telephone ball rang again.
"Yes, who is it?" asked Jim Tyrrell impatiently.
"What's the matter, Jim?" came a girl's voice. "You sound cross." Jim's face cleared magically. He laughed.
"So'd you be, Tess, if you were trying to finish an important plan and were rung up on an average once every ten minutes."
"Poor old boy, I'm so sorry. But I'm not ringing you just to talk. You know the Ganderhouse?"
"That nice funny old place above Sandy Cove," replied Jim.
"You've hit it off to a T, Jim. The dearest, quaintest house in the country, and—and just the place for us."
"For us! It's Miss Wynne's, and she's the last person to move from Maytham."
"But she is moving. I've just heard that she's going to Torquay to keep house for her brother. Jim, I want you to go straight to Prance and find out whether the Ganderhouse is to be let or sold. If it's to be let—"
"We must have it," broke in Jim. "Right, Tess dear. I'll go this minute."
Houses were uncommonly scarce in Maytham, and Jim, though in fair practice as a rising young architect, could not yet afford to build or to buy. That was why he and Tess Linton had been obliged to delay their marriage.
Barely an hour later Jim arrived at Tess's home. Tess a slim girl with an exquisitely clear skin and glorious auburn hair, came running to meet him.
"Did you get it, Jim?" she asked eagerly.
"I have first call on it," he answered as he caught her in his arms.
"Then why didn't you take it at once?"
Jim laughed.
"My dear, you're not going to ask an architect to take a house he has never inspected.
"When will you see it?" Tess asked.
"Miss Wynne is leaving to-morrow. I can't go till she's gone, so I've an order to view for next day." Tess looked tragic.
"That's Thursday, and I have to go to town for Letty Croome's wedding."
AFTER lunch on Thursday Jim walked to Sandy Cove where, at the head of a narrow coombe, stood the quaintly named Ganderhouse with its garden sloping towards the sea. A tall hedge of holly cut off the wind and masses of ivy covered the thick stone walls. Jim let himself in with the latch key and started his inspection. He soon satisfied himself that the building was sound and the drains and water supply in order. He saw no signs of damp. The only objection to the place was that it had not been done up for years, and that the whole house would have to be repainted inside and out.
He felt very cheerful as he locked up and started back. Near the top of the steep hill, leading up into the main road, a man seated on a camp stool with a canvas on a small easel in front of him, hailed Jim.
"Hulloa, Tyrrell, taking a day off?"
"Can't afford to do that, Starley," Jim answered. "In point of fact I've been house-hunting."
"Not the Ganderhouse?" questioned the other laying down his paint brush and gazing up at Jim with a rather peculiar expression on his good-looking face. A striking looking man was Frank Starley with his large blue eyes and yellow beard.
"Yes," said Jim "It's the Ganderhouse I've been inspecting, and I like it very much."
"You ought to get it cheap," said the other. Jim was puzzled.
"Why should I get it cheap?" he asked.
"You've never heard of the ghost?" Jim frowned.
"Whose ghost?" he demanded.
"It is the spirit of little Anne Fairfax. The story is that her mother, a widow, locked her in the small back room no doubt for safety's sake, and then went into the village. On the way she was knocked down by a runaway horse and killed. In those days the cliff road was very empty, her body was not found until next day, and by the time anyone thought of the poor baby, alone in the house, she was dead." Jim shuddered.
"What a horrible story! But why should poor little Anne haunt the place? She doesn't seem to have troubled Miss Wynne."
"Evidently she is not psychic. It is only sensitives who perceive these hauntings. Have you ever seen anything, Tyrrell?"
"Me! Good Lord, no." Starley looked hard at him.
"All the same I think you have the gift." He paused then went on. "You're going to be married, are you not?"
"Yes, to Miss Linton." Starley nodded.
"See here, Tyrrell, I don't want you to think me officious, but it would not be fair to take a girl into a house troubled as that one is. Will you take the advice of a man who has had some experience in these matters."
"I'll be glad to hear it," said Jim rather curtly.
"Then before you take the house spend a night there." Jim considered a moment.
"I'll do that," he said at last. "But mind you. I haven't much belief in this sort of thing."
"I hope and trust there's nothing to be believed in," said Starley gravely, and Jim nodded and went on. He was thinking hard as he tramped back into the town. The first thing that occurred to him was whether Starley had any axe to grind, but that did not seem likely. The artist had a pretty cottage of his own. He was a bachelor, with a competent housekeeper. There was no reason to suspect him of any desire to get hold of Ganderhouse. Jim went straight to Prance, and asked bluntly if he knew anything of the haunting of the Ganderhouse.
Prance admitted that there was some old tale of a child having starved to death in the house.
"I'm going there to-night," Jim told him. "I don't believe in it, myself, but I'd like to make sure. I can keep the key?"
"You can keep the key right enough, Mr. Tyrrell, but you won't see or hear anything," replied the agent with a smile.
Jim went home early and got a couple of hours sleep before he started. He took a book, some sandwiches, a flask of whisky, half a dozen candles and a flash-light, plenty of matches, and an overcoat. Also he had a small revolver in his pocket, and a thick stick in his hand.
IT was a warm night but cloudy, dark and very still. Jim went straight to the small room behind the drawing-room and lit a couple of candles. During his previous visit he had noticed an old canvas chair left in an outhouse. He fetched this in. Then he took his torch and explored the house from garret to cellar. Incidentally, the old house had a very fine cellar, which was partly cut in the solid rock. When he had made quite certain that there was no living thing on the place except himself he spread the coat over the dusty old chair, opened his book and read until his first two candles were nearly burned out.
It was then that he heard the sound. A very faint sound, more resembling the flutter of a small bird's wings than anything else. Dropping back in his chair he sat quite still listening intently. The sound died, there was a pause of utter silence, then came the voice.
"Mammy—Mammy!" Such a piteous little voice. Instead of frightening Jim it filled him with a sense of profound sorrow.
A pause, then the voice broke down into faint, thin sobbings which tore Jim's heart. Minutes passed, slowly the sad sounds died away, and once again all was silence. At last Jim stirred, got up and stretched his stiff limbs. A faint grey light at the edge of the sea showed that the summer dawn was breaking. Jim collected his property and went out, locking the door behind him.
Jim had too much sense to put Tess off with some lame story of bad drains. He told her the exact truth, and soft-hearted Tess flung herself into his arms and wept.
"Oh, the poor baby!" she sobbed. "Couldn't we do something for it, Jim?"
"You—you might pray for it," said Jim rather awkwardly.
"I will—I will." She paused. "Then you think we can't have the house, Jim?"
"It's out of the question, Tess. But cheer up, darling. If I get that town hall contract, I can afford to build and you shall have a house right on the cliffs."
"That will be nice," said Tess, but though she spoke cheerfully Jim knew that no other house would match the Ganderhouse in her estimation.
OLD PRANCE looked distinctly blue when he heard Jim's reason for not taking the house.
"You'll keep your mouth shut, Mr. Tyrrell," he begged.
"I shan't talk unless someone asks me a direct question," Jim promised and Prance was clearly relieved.
"Ghost or no ghost, it won't wait long for a tenant," he said, and sure enough he was right. Within 24 hours it was taken by a married couple named Winslow, and Jim heard that they were spending a lot of money in doing it up. He himself went back to work with energy, and now that Fate had done him an ill turn the luck changed and he was informed that his design had been accepted for the new Town Hall.
The arbiter was Sir Roger Ramsden and Jim was flattered when he heard that the great man was coming down to Maytham and wished to see him.
Jim went to meet a master and found a friend. Sir Roger was a big man in every sense of the word, tall, broad-shouldered with a hawk nose and deep-set, kindly eyes under heavy brows. His mane of white hair added to his striking appearance. He took to Jim at once, and as for Jim, he had never met any man who attracted him so strongly.
After a long talk over Jim's plans, of which Sir Roger spoke most kindly, the great man asked Jim to dinner at his hotel. Afterwards the two smoked and talked, and Jim found himself telling the whole story of the Ganderhouse.
"But I suppose you don't believe in ghosts, sir?" Jim ended.
"Not in this one, I think," replied the other decidedly. Jim stared. Sir Roger went on. "I remember the old story perfectly. You see, Tyrrell, I am a native of this part of the world. I was born at Grendon, only two miles away."
"Then isn't it true?" Jim asked quickly.
"The facts as given you by Starley are true, but as it happens my family knew the Reynolds who had the Ganderhouse after Mrs. Fairfax, and I was often there as a boy. Certainly they were never troubled by any ghost."
"But I heard it," said Jim.
"No doubt you heard just what you have told me you heard, but I am not convinced that the sounds came from any supernormal source." Jim's eyes widened
"I examined the house pretty thoroughly first, sir. And, in any case, who had any reason to try to humbug me?"
"That's what I should like to know. This whole business interests me greatly, and I should like to investigate. Come and see me to-morrow, Tyrrell"
NEXT evening, when Jim turned up at the hotel, he noticed a queer gleam in his new friend's eyes.
"You've discovered something, sir."
"I have, and it's this—Mrs. Winslow is Starley's niece." Jim whistled softly.
"Then the ghost was a fake, after all?"
"I'm sure of it."
"Well, it's too late to do anything now," Jim remarked. "The Winslows have a seven years' lease."
"Then the lease must be broken," was the quick reply. Jim stared.
"I don't see—" he began, doubtfully.
"You can't be expected to see. Leave this to me. Tyrrell, and I think I can promise results." Jim looked more doubtful than ever.
"I don't quite understand why you should trouble yourself, sir!"
"Then I'll tell you. In the first place, there's nothing gives me greater pleasure than scoring off a trickster of Starley's type; and in the second, I'm not too old to enjoy a bit of fun." He laid a kindly hand on Jim's shoulder.
"Go back to your work, Tyrrell, and wait until you hear from me."
A WEEK passed. Then one day Jim met Prance in the street, and Prance asked him into his office. The stout estate agent was looking unusually serious.
"You were right about that ghost, Mr. Tyrrell," he said. "I had Mr. Winslow here yesterday in a terrible way. Told me his wife was scared stiff and refused to stay any longer. He asked me to try and get rid of the lease." He looked at Jim. "Seems a pity, after all their outlay, doing the place up. Why, they must have spent a matter of three hundred pounds." Jim's heart leaped, yet he did not allow his face to betray his feelings.
"Are you suggesting I should take it, Mr. Prance?"
"No, but you might know someone who would." Jim nodded.
"I may be able to help you. Keep the offer open until I see you again." Prance's plump face brightened.
"I'll do that," he promised, and Jim hurried off to see Sir Roger.
"They've left," he said breathlessly. Sir Roger's eyes twinkled.
"I thought as much. Let's go down in that direction."
WHEN they came to the cove Sir Roger did not make straight for the house. Instead, he clambered up the rocky side of the coombe which was covered with scrubby brush. He pushed his way through a little thicket and Jim, following, found himself at the entrance of a small cave.
"Look out for your head," said Sir Roger as he stooped and went in. Once inside, he flashed a torch and walked along a passage cut in the rock. It sloped upwards and ended in a heavy door which Sir Roger opened and Jim saw that they were in the cellar beneath the Ganderhouse.
"This is one thing you didn't find out, Tyrrell," said his friend with a smile.
"I didn't even suspect it," replied Jim. "That door's wonderfully hidden."
"It is probably an old smuggler's passage," Sir Roger answered.
"Then Starley knew of this," said Jim quickly.
"I don't suppose for a moment he did. The house was empty and he could get in any way he liked. One of the Reynolds boys and I found the passage years ago but never told anyone. And I'm glad we didn't," he ended with a chuckle.
"Tell me what you did," Jim begged.
"If Starley's an electrician, I'm something of a chemist," Sir Roger answered.
You saw the carboy in the passage."
"Yes," said Jim.
"That held carbonic acid snow. It's about the coldest stuff on earth and when exposed to the air evaporates rapidly, at the same time lowering the surrounding temperature. I gave them a dose of that two nights running. The third night I used a chemical, one of the hydrogen compounds, which has a horrible smell but is quite harmless. That appears to have done the trick."
"Wretched people!" said Jim half pityingly.
"I shouldn't waste compassion on them, Tyrrell, for it's quite certain that Mrs. Winslow, if not her husband, must have known of the dirty trick her uncle played on you."
Rather less than an hour later Jim again reached Prance's office.
"You've found a tenant?" asked the agent anxiously.
"I've decided to take it, myself," Jim answered. Prance's eyes widened.
"You mean you aren't afraid of the ghost any longer?"
"No," said Jim. I have learned a little more about hauntings and I am no longer afraid. And that very same evening he and Tess settled the date of their wedding.
Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
Go to Home Page
This work is out of copyright in countries with a copyright
period of 70 years or less, after the year of the author's death.
If it is under copyright in your country of residence,
do not download or redistribute this file.
Original content added by RGL (e.g., introductions, notes,
RGL covers) is proprietary and protected by copyright.