~ 100 ~
for week-ends. About a year ago, he sold it to some people called Turner – Mr. and Mrs.
Turner. They seem to have been rather a curious couple from all I can make out. They lived
very quietly, seeing no one, and hardly ever going outside the cottage garden. The local
rumour goes that they were afraid of something. And then suddenly one day they departed
and never came back. The agents here got a letter from Mr. Turner, written from London,
instructing him to sell up the place as quickly as possible. The furniture was sold off, and the
house itself was sold. The people who have it now are a French professor and his daughter.
They
have
been
there
just
ten
days.”
Jack digested this in silence.
“I don’t see that that gets us anywhere,” he said at last.
“Do you?”
“I rather want to know more about the Turners, said Lavington quietly. They left very
early in the morning, you remember. As far as I can make out, nobody actually saw them go.
Mr. Turner has been seen since – but I cant find anybody who has seen Mrs. Turner.”
Jack paled.
“It can’t be – you don’t mean.”
“Don’t excite yourself, young man. Let us drop the subject – for to-night at least,” he
suggested.
Jack agreed readily enough, but did not find it so easy to vanish the subject from his
own mind.
During the week-end, he made inquiries of his own, but succeeded in getting little
more than the doctor had done. He had definitely given up playing golf before breakfast.
On getting back one day, Jack was informed that a young lady was waiting to see him. To his
surprise it proved to be the girl of the garden – the pansy girl, as he always called her in his
own mind. She was very nervous and confused.
“You will forgive me, Monsieur, for coming to see you like this But there is
something I want to tell you –I - ” She looked round uncertainly.
“Come in here,” said Jack.
“Now,
sit down, Miss, Miss…”
“Marchaud, Monsieur. Felise Marchaud.”
“Sit down, Mademoiselle Marchaud, and tell me all about it.” Felise sat down
obediently. She was dressed in dark green to-day, and the beauty and charm of the proud little
face was more evident than ever. Jacks heart beat faster as he sat down beside her.
“It is like this,” explained Felise. “We have been here but a short time, and from the
beginning we hear the house – our so sweet little house – is haunted. No servant will stay in
it.”
“This talk of ghosts, I think it is all folly – that is until four days ago. Monsieur, four
nights running, I have had the same dream. A lady stands there – she is beautiful, tall and very
f air. In her hands she holds a blue china jar. She is distressed – very distressed, and
continually she holds out her jar to me, as though asking me to do something with it. But alas!
She cannot speak, and I – I do not know what she asks. That was the dream for the first two
nights – but the night before last, there was more of it. She and the blue jar faded away, and
suddenly I heard her voice crying out – I know it is her voice, you understand – and, oh!
Monsieur, the words she says are those you spoke to me that morning.” Murder – Help!
Murder!” I awoke in terror. I say to myself – it is a nightmare, the words you heard are an
accident. But last night the dream came again. Monsieur, what is it You too have heard. What
shall
we
do?”
Felise’s face was terrified. Her small hands clasped themselves together, and she gazed at
Jack. The latter pretended to look calm.
“That’s all right, Mademoiselle Marchaud. You mustn’t worry. I tell you what Id like
you to do, if you don’t mind, repeat the whole story to a friend of mine who is staying here, a