CHAPTER ELEVEN

DECISION

They squeezed out of the box and went into the hot morning sunshine again.

“Well, mastermind, what happens now? Nothing very extraordinary about the business, is there? Henry Carstairs knew my uncle had died and so offered £15,000 for the castle.”

“But why,” Dick mused, “should an analytical chemist want to buy a castle, complete with ghost?”

“Don’t ask me. Maybe he has ideas about an institution, or something. Anyway, I don’t see what’s to prevent me selling the place.”

“You’ve changed round a lot since you said you wanted to carry on and see what the mystery was about.”

“That was before I’d had that awful experience.”

“Well, there’s nothing to prevent you from selling the place. In fact, that is probably what Henry Carstairs wants you too do—he and the Falworths.”

Vera came to a stop, frowning. She gave Dick a very direct gaze.

“Where is the connection between the Falworths and Henry Carstairs?”

“Pure deduction. The Falworths love that place so much they are prepared to stay without salary. That, to me, makes them seem suspicious. If the Falworths want you out of that place and for some reason want to buy it themselves, do you think they’d be idiots enough to try to buy it under their own name? Even granting they have £15,000 to throw about, which I doubt. They’d be more likely to get somebody else to make the bid for them—somebody with plenty of money. And I think—without proof, I admit—that Carstairs may be working in league with the Falworths. It’s odd that he alone should make an offer.”

“Why is it?” Vera sounded as though she were trying to be argumentative, though to do her justice she was not. “He lives in Guildford—quite near to you in Godalming. He must have seen the castle many a time and no doubt even knew my uncle. Probably when he heard of his death, through the local papers no doubt, he decided on an investment.”

“Unless the Falworths sent him news of the death, which accounts for him being so quick on the draw.”

“Well, all right, if you want it that way. Anyhow, I feel like selling.”

Dick halted and caught the girl’s hand. She halted, too, then as he motioned to the grassy bank by the side of the makeshift road to Sunny Acres she draped herself gracefully beside him.

“Look, Vera, this is really none of my business.” He looked at her with intense seriousness. “You are perfectly entitled to do as you like with Sunny Acres, but surely you can see that if it is worth £15,000 of somebody’s money, it is probably worth a good deal more.”

“Must it? I’m not very good at figures.”

“Then I’ll try and explain....” Dick moved closer to her until he could smell the perfume wafting from her hair.

“It’s a heck of a lot of money for a dump like that, even with the land round it. The evil spirit and legend alone knock about £5,000 off a price like that. I’ll tell you what I think. I believe that this old castle you’ve inherited contains some mighty powerful money-making secret which the Falworths have stumbled upon, perhaps by accident; and they are using every means they can, short of actually killing you, to get you out! They want to uproot you legally, to make you go of your own accord. Once that is done and the property is signed away, they can expand, in league with the mysterious Henry Carstairs. You see?”

“Hmmm,” Vera sat on the grassy bank and gazed reflectively at the cumulus drifting over the blue heaven. Under such conditions it was hard to dwell upon the depredations of the Falworths.

“You see?” Dick insisted.

“Yes, Dick, I see. And it would give them a nasty shock if I told them I had decided not to sell, wouldn’t it?”

“It would do more than that; it would bring matters to a head in earnest. Two things might happen: either they would quit and give the whole mysterious scheme the go-by—which seems most unlikely when I recall Mrs. Falworth’s dogged jaw; or else they might go to the limit to scare the living daylights out of you, and me, too. But if we know what’s coming we’ll be prepared for it.”

“Just the same, Dick, I couldn’t stand another experience like the one we had in that room. I’d sooner run for my life, and I admit it.”

“And let them lick you?”

“Not them. It!”

They were quiet again, the soft breeze playing caprices with Vera’s golden curls. Dick frowned into the sunny distances and then began to count on his fingers.

“One—an analytical chemist; two, queer doings in the cellar; three, castle built over an ancient volcanic seam; four, rotten smell—by gosh, I wonder!”

“Wonder what?” Vera turned lazy blue eyes towards him.

“Just an idea that’s struck me, Vera, we’ve got to see what goes on in that cellar! The locked one, I mean. Yes, I know it looked all right when I looked over it, but that may only have been because the machinery the Falworths are using is dismantled when they’ve done their work. Some time or other they are bound to resume their activities down there, and when they do we must see that they’re doing.... Are you game?”

“Of course. As long as you’ll stand by me, I’ll stick to it.”

“Right! We’re going straight back to Sunny Acres and watch Mrs. Falworth’s face when you tell her you’re not selling.”

Mrs. Falworth, however, was too accomplished in the art of schooling her emotions to seem disturbed when Vera made her announcement during lunch. The housekeeper took the statement in absolute calm. The only change visible was slight clenching of her fingers and the creeping of a hard glitter into her dark eyes.

“I suppose, miss, it is useless for me to tell you that by your decision you have signed your own death warrant?” she asked coldly.

“Quite!” Vera answered. “And if you wish to leave, the opportunity is still open.”

“I prefer to remain faithful to my duty, madam.”

“Do you think we are so young that we’re plain crazy, Mrs. Falworth?” Dick asked her bluntly. “You are in this castle because it suits you to be in it, and all that bunk about duty doesn’t mean a thing. You are here for some vital, impelling reason, and you don’t care what you do or whom you hurt so long as you make your plans work out right!”

“I am afraid, sir, I do not understand.”

Mrs. Falworth stood quite still, her smoldering eyes fixed on Dick’s face.

“You will,” he promised. “That is, if you keep on behaving as you have been doing. This property is not going to be sold, and you can make up your mind to the fact that before we’re finished it will have given up every secret it possesses. Every corner, every room, will be cleaned out, and the myth of this legend and the evil spirit will be exploded. As a commencement we intend to resume our investigation of the horror-room this evening.”

“You have courage,” the woman admitted. “Both of you.”

“According to my study of this place,” Dick went on, “from The History of Sunny Acres, the ghost—”

“You have read that book?” the housekeeper interrupted.

“Yes.” Dick’s eyes met hers again. “I took it out of the library last night, and I found it most interesting, not to say mysterious. One plate has been torn out—a plan of the castle and a map of the surrounding district. I presume you don’t know anything about it?”

“Why should I?” But there was a definite hint of consternation in her face.

“Anyway, to go back to the ghost. It says it has been known to appear on the 20th and 22nd of June as well as on the 21st. This evening being the 20th it is a good chance to see if it proves to be accommodating.”

“I see. And if it should appear, sir, what do you intend to do?”

“Find out what makes it tick!” Dick retorted. “There has to be a reason, and I mean to find it.”

“As you wish,” the woman shrugged; then as though there were no such things as ghosts she asked, “Would you care for some more coffee, sir?”

Dick nodded, and glanced across at Vera. She was looking at the housekeeper intently, studying her every expression. It was quite clear that she was having a hard struggle to keep herself in check.

The lunch ended without any further exchange of words. To Vera and Dick there seemed to be nothing else on hand at the moment except another walk in the fresh air—but instead of wandering aimlessly they turned it to advantage. At three o’clock they called on Dr. Gillingham in Waylock Dean’s main street. He was a small, composed man with a very high forehead and shrewd gray eyes. About him there hung that elusive odor of iodine and ether inseparable from a physician.

“Sorry to bother you, doctor,” Dick apologised, as Dr. Gillingham came into the waiting room in his white smock. “It happens to be rather important though.”

“No bother at all,” Dr. Gillingham reassured him. “These are not surgery hours, you know. What’s the trouble?”

“I’m Vera Grantham,” Vera explained, as she shook hands. “My uncle was Cyrus Merriforth—”

“Oh, indeed! Yes, Cyrus of Sunny Acres. Quite a character, too! He mentioned you to me once or twice. Seemed to have quite a high opinion of your gallantry while in the A.T.S.”

“Oh—it was nothing.... Suppose we forget all about me. It’s my uncle I want to speak to you about. What did he die of?”

“Heart failure.”

“I suppose,” Vera ventured, “there couldn’t be any possibility of a mistake?”

“Oh!” Dr. Gillingham seemed amused. “I value my reputation, Miss Grantham. Your uncle’s heart had not been too strong for some time, dating from his unpleasant experience with the Sunny Acres’ ghost.”

“That’s what we want to get at,” Dick broke in. “Miss Grantham and I are up against that phantom in earnest—or at any rate the evil power it seems to radiate. Do you think it is possible that Mr. Merriforth would still be alive but for that terrible experience he had?”

“I would say there is little doubt of it,” Dr. Gillingham answered with conviction. “I knew him well. He came to me regularly for examination before starting on his expeditions abroad. He was a hard, sinewy man with a heart as strong as an ox’s. Then one evening last summer I received an urgent call from Mrs. Falworth, his housekeeper. To my amazement I found him raving with delirium, suffering from a high fever, and his heart in a very dangerous state. We got him back to a fair state of health, but he was never quote the same man again. When I heard of his sudden death, I was not surprised.”

“What,” Vera asked, “do you think of Mrs. Falworth?”

“I imagine that she is a most efficient housekeeper. Your uncle had nothing bud praise for her. She is, I admit, a somber and forbidding person, but after ten years in Sunny Acres one can hardly expect much else.”

“I suppose,” Dick persisted, “Uncle Cyrus didn’t call in the police after his adventure with the psychic world?”