Tom Ossington's Ghost

by Richard Marsh

  CHAPTER VIII

  MADGE . . . AND THE PANEL

  "And is that all the story?" asked Ella, for Mr. Graham had paused.

  "All of it as it relates to Ballingall. So far as he was concerned, itbrought his history up to date."

  "And what became of him?"

  "He was tried at the Surrey Sessions. There was practically nodefence--for, of course, I could not urge on his behalf the wild storyhe had told me. All I could do was to plead extenuating circumstances.He was found guilty, and got twelve months."

  "And then?"

  "Then I came in--that was my first brief, and my last. Although Icould not see my way to shape his story into the form of any legalplea, still less could I erase it from my mind. Never had I heard sucha tale before, and never had I listened to a man who had so impressedme by his complete sincerity as Ballingall had done when telling it.He had struck me as being as sane as I myself was; had usedcommonplace words; had not gone out of his way to heighten theircolour; but had simply told the thing straight on, exactly as itoccurred. I felt convinced that, from his own point of view, theaffair was genuine.

  "Months went by, and still the story stuck in my brain. I found myselfputting propositions of this kind. There was a house called CloverCottage, and there had lived in it a man named Ossington, an avowedeccentric--for I had made inquiries in the neighbourhood, and hadlearned that he had been regarded thereabouts as more or less insane.Suppose, in this empty house of his, he had hidden something which wasmore or less valuable, for which there existed no actual owner, norany designated heir. What then?"

  The speaker paused again. Then spoke more softly. On his countenancethe shadows seemed to deepen.

  "You must understand that I am a poor man. All the world that knows meis conscious of my poverty, but none but myself is aware how poor Ireally am. I have felt, and feel, that if I can only hold on, I shallwin my way in my profession yet. But it is the holding on which is sodifficult. Some time ago I came to the end of my resources, and duringthe last year I have been living from hand to mouth. Had I had my timemore fully occupied I should have been able to banish from my mind theman's queer story; or had I seen my way to earn money sufficient tosupply my daily needs, anyhow, without forfeiting my right to callmyself a professional man, and so barring that gate to my futureadvancement; my thoughts would not have turned so frequently to thatpossibly hidden, useless hoard. I was frequently conscious that thewhole thing might be, and probably was, a pure phantasm, and thatthere was no such hoard, and never had been; but, at the same time Iwas persuaded that Ballingall had not been a conscious liar.

  "Things came to such a pitch that I found myself in possession of lessthan ten shillings, and with nothing pawnable on which to raise thewind--you must forgive my entering on these details, but it isabsolutely necessary if you are to have a complete comprehension of myposition. This, I told myself, was absurd, and if there really wassomething hidden at Clover Cottage worth having, which could be hadfor the finding, it was absurder still. I started then and there witha half-formed resolution to put the matter to a final test, and tolook for myself. I reached Clover Cottage--to find that it wasoccupied. There was a plate outside, announcing that lessons weregiven in music. My mind had been in a tolerable state of confusionwhen I started. I was conscious of the apparent absurdity of my quest;and that consciousness had not grown less as I went on. The discoverythat the house was tenanted made my confusion worse confounded. Morethan half ashamed of my errand, I was wholly at a loss what to do.While I hesitated, I chanced to glance up, and there, a few yards downthe road, was ... Ballingall."

  "I knew it was Ballingall."

  This was Madge.

  Ella turned on her.

  "You knew it was Ballingall?--How did you know it was Ballingall? Itseems to me that you know everything."

  "Miss Brodie," observed Bruce Graham, "very naturally draws her ownconclusions. The sight of him turned me into a drivelling idiot. Inthe confusion of my mind his appearance on the scene at thatparticular moment seemed nothing short of supernatural. I felt as if Ihad been guilty of some act of treachery towards him, and as if he hadsprung from goodness alone knew where to catch me in the very act. Iblundered through the gate, knocked at the door and almost forced myway into the house."

  "You did almost force your way into the house."

  Madge's tone was grim.

  "I'm afraid I did--and, being in, I blurted out some nonsense aboutbeing in search of music lessons, and generally misbehaved myself allround. As a climax, just as I was about to put an end to my intrusion,I saw Ballingall staring at me through the window. I would not haveencountered him then for all the hidden hoards the world contains. Ientreated Miss Brodie--to permit me to make my escape through the backdoor--and she did."

  "Yes, and insulted you as you went."

  Graham rose from his seat.

  "You behaved to me, Miss Brodie, infinitely better than I deserved.You would have been perfectly justified in summoning a policeman, andgiving me into charge. I can only thank you for your forbearance. Iassure you of my most extreme penitence. And while I cannot expectthat you will forgive me at once----"

  "But I do forgive you."

  Madge had also risen.

  "Miss Brodie."

  "Of course I do. And I did behave badly--like a wretch. But why didn'tyou explain?"

  "You saw what, at the moment, was my capacity to explain, and now youperceive how extremely complicated the explanation would have had tobe."

  "But to think," cried Ella, "that we should be in the very centre of amystery."

  Jack struck in.

  "Exactly--living in the very heart of it; surrounded by it on everyside; having it staring you in the face whichever way you turn. Whatdid I tell you? Isn't it blood-curdling? Like the man says in thesong--you really never do know where you are."

  Ella glanced at Madge.

  "The burglary last night--do you think?"

  "Of course it was."

  "Ballingall?"

  "Without a doubt."

  "But, my dear, how can you be so sure?"

  "He was hanging about all day--he tried again last night; it's asplain as it possibly can be."

  Jack, puzzled, had been looking from one to the other.

  "Perhaps you will tell us what is as plain as it possibly can be."

  Ella turned to him.

  "There was another burglary last night."

  "Where?"

  "Here--in the very middle of the night."

  "Upon my honour!--this appears to be--Graham, this really does appearto be a pleasant house to live in. The delights of the country, withthe horrors of town thrown in.--Did you catch the ruffian?"

  "Madge heard him first."

  "Oh--Madge heard him first?"

  "Yes, and then she came and told me----"

  "Where was he all the time?"

  "Wait a bit, and I'll tell you. Then we both of us heard him--thenMadge fired----"

  "Fired?--what?"

  "Your revolver."

  "Gracious!--did she hit him?"

  "She never saw him."

  "Never saw him! Then what did she fire at?"

  "Well----"

  Ella stopped, as if somewhat at a loss. So Madge went on.

  "I fired to let him know he was discovered. I believe the bulletlodged in the roof."

  "Heavens! what a target."

  "He took the hint, and did not wait to be made a target of himself."

  "Then didn't you see him at all?"

  "Through the window, as he was running down the road."

  "Did you give the alarm?"

  "We were in our night-dresses."

  "Why, he might have murdered the two of you if he had liked."

  "He might, but he didn't."

  Madge's tone was dry. Ella put her hand up to her ears.

  "Jack!--don't talk like that; I've been shivering ever since. Youcan't think what a day I've had in town, thi
nking of Madge in thehouse all alone."

  "My dear girl." He put his arm about her waist, to comfort her. "Andyou think that it was--Graham's friend."

  "It was Charles Ballingall."

  This was Madge; Ella was less positive.

  "My dear, how can you be so certain? You only caught a glimpse of theman's back in the darkness."

  "He has committed burglary here before. His presence in the daytime isfollowed by another burglary that same night. Isn't the inference anobvious one? Don't you think so, Mr. Graham?

  "It looks exceedingly suspicious. To convince a jury of his innocencehe would have to prove an alibi."

  "The burglar, whoever it was--and for the sake of argument we'll saythat we don't know--took nothing with him, but he left somethingbehind him, a piece of paper with writing on it. When the police cametoday----"

  "Do you mean to say that the police have been here to-day?"

  "Certainly--or, rather, a sample of them. And a lot of good he did, oris likely to do. I gave him the original piece of paper, but notbefore I had copied what was on it. Here is the copy. What do you makeof it, Mr. Graham?"

  Madge handed a sheet of paper to the gentleman addressed. As he lookedat it Jack, too impatient to wait his turn, leaned over his elbow tolook at it too.

  "My stars! 'Tom Ossington's Ghost!' Large as life! Here's thrillers.What's that? 'Right--straight across--three four--up!' Here'smysteries! 'Right--cat--dog--cat--dog--cat--dog--dog--cat--dog--lefteye,--push'--there seem to be several dogs after a good few cats.Perhaps it is my stupidity, but, while it's very interesting, I don'tquite see what it means."

  Madge paid no attention to Martyn. She kept her eyes fixed on hiscompanion.

  "What do you make of it, Mr. Graham?" she asked.

  Bruce Graham continued silent for a moment longer, keeping his eyesfixed upon the paper. Then he looked up and met her glance.

  "I think that we have here the key of the riddle, if we could onlyread it."

  "If we could only read it!"

  "Nor, from a superficial glance, should I imagine that that would bevery difficult."

  "Nor I."

  "One thing it seems to me that this paper proves--that you werecorrect in your inference, and that last night's burglar was CharlesBallingall."

  "I am sure of it."

  "You two," interposed Martyn, "appear to be in thoroughagreement--thorough! Which is the more delightful since you began bydisagreeing. But you must excuse my saying that I don't quite seewhere the cause for harmony comes in."

  "Are you so stupid?"

  "My dear Madge! Don't strike me! It's constitutional."

  "Don't you see what the situation really is?"

  "Well--pardon me--but--really, you are so warm. Miss Brodie. If thisgentleman were to allow me to study this interesting document, Imight."

  "Somewhere in this house, the dead man, Tom Ossington, concealed hisfortune, all that he had worth having. It is as clear as if I saw theactual hiding place."

  "My gracious goodness! Is it?"

  "It is within a few feet of where we're standing. At this moment we're'hot,' I know--I feel it!"

  "Listen to that now! Madge, you must have second sight."

  "That scrap of paper contains, as Mr. Graham puts it, the key of theriddle. It's a minute description of the precise whereabouts of thedead man's hiding place. All we have to do is to find out what itmeans, and if we are not all idiots, that shouldn't be hard. Why,you've only got to see the house; you've only to look about you, anduse your eyes, to at once perceive that it's honeycombed with possiblehiding places--just the sort of crevices and crannies which wouldcommend themselves to such a man as this Tom Ossington. Look at thisvery room, for instance; it's wainscotted. That means, probably, thatbetween the outer wall and the wainscot there's an open space--and whoknows what beside? Listen!" She struck the wainscot in question withher open palm. "You can hear it has a hollow backing. Why"--shetouched it again more gently, then stopped, as if puzzled--"why, thewood-work moves." She gave a little cry, "Ella."

  "Madge?"

  They came crowding round her, with eager faces.