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I do not, of course, deny the supernatural, but it is weak-minded to fall back upon it as the line of least resistance." Then Fayre-Michell repeated his question. He had listened with intense interest to the story.
To think of so much boyish good spirits and such vitality extinguished in this way." "Can we do anything on earth for them?" asked Millicent Fayre-Michell. "Nothing nothing. If I may advise, I think we had all better go to church. By so doing we get out of the way for a time and please dear Sir Walter. I shall certainly go." They greeted the suggestion indeed, clutched at it.
"And if he fails, then I hope you'll invite the Psychical Research Society." Sir Walter let the chatter flow past him; but he concentrated on the name of Peter Hardcastle. He remembered the story of the spy, and the sensation it had aroused. Millicent Fayre-Michell also remembered it. "Mr. Hardcastle declined to let his photograph be published in the halfpenny papers, I remember," she said.
The spy had been too clever for England and France thanks to a woman who helped him. Peter Hardcastle got to know her; then he actually disguised himself as the woman of course without her knowledge arrested her, and kept an appointment that she had made with the spy. What was the spy called? I forget." "Wundt," said Felix Fayre-Michell. "No, I don't think so.
The war had sobered them, and at an early stage robbed them of their younger boy. Nelly Travers won her game amid congratulations, and Tom May challenged another woman, a Diana, who lived for sport and had joined the house party with her uncle, Mr. Felix Fayre-Michell. But Millicent Fayre-Michell refused.
"I hope you are going to make this an official matter, Sir Walter, and communicate with the Society for Psychical Research," urged Felix Fayre-Michell. "It is just a case for them. In fact, when this gets known widely, as it must, of course, a great many skilled inquirers will wish to visit Chadlands and spend a night in the room."
"We have all paid the price; and the price has been a great deal of suffering and discomfort and stress of mind that we ought not have been called upon to endure. One resents such things in a stable world." "Well, I'm not going to church, anyway. I must smoke for my nerves. I'm a psychic myself, and I react to a thing of this sort," replied Fayre-Michell.
"All who care to do so can see it," answered Sir Walter, rising. "We will look in on our way to bed. Get the key from my key-cabinet in the study, Henry. It's labelled 'Grey Room." Ernest Travers, Felix Fayre-Michell, Tom May, and Colonel Vane followed Sir Walter upstairs to a great corridor, which ran the length of the main front, and upon which opened a dozen bedrooms and dressing-rooms.
"Education, and law and order, and the discipline inculcated in the Navy ought to have prevented this," continued Fayre-Michell. "Who ever heard of a sailor disobeying except Nelson?" "He's paid, poor fellow," said his niece, who walked beside him. "We have all paid," declared the north countryman.
Nothing gloomy or depressing marked it, nor a suggestion of the sinister. "Could one wish for a more amiable looking room?" asked Fayre-Michell. They gazed round them, and Ernest Travers expressed admiration at the old furniture. "My dear Walter, why hide these things here?" he asked. "They are beautiful, and may be valuable, too." "I've been asked the same question before," answered the owner.
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