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From his hostess, who had offered him a seat beside her, he gathered that M. Delfosse and Kilcraithie had each temporarily occupied his room, but that they had been transferred to the other wing, apart from the married couples and young ladies, because when they came upstairs from the billiard and card room late, they sometimes disturbed the fair occupants. No! there were no ghosts at Glenbogie.
He was a hard-featured man, with a thin fringe of yellow-gray whiskers that met under his chin like dirty strings to tie his cap on with. "Ye'll be goin' to Glenbogie House, I'm thinkin'?" he said moodily. The consul said that he was. "I kenned it. Ye'll no be gettin' any machine to tak' ye there.
And at a little distance, lifting above a black drift of firs, were the square rigid sky lines of Glenbogie House, standing starkly against the cold, lingering northern twilight.
He lit the candle and peered behind the curtains and furniture and under the bed; the room was as vacant and undisturbed as when he left it. Had it been a trick of his senses or a bona-fide apparition? He had never heard of a ghost at Glenbogie the house dated back some fifty years; Sir John Macquoich's tardy knighthood carried no such impedimenta.
MacSpadden was a vivacious acquaintance at St. Kentigern, whom he certainly and not without some satisfaction expected to meet at Glenbogie House. He raised his eyes inquiringly to the porter's. "Ye'll no be rememberin' me. I had a machine in St. Kentigern and drove ye to MacSpadden's ferry often. Far, far too often!
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