The Ghost It Was

by Richard Hull

  Eventually, whether it was right or not, James decided that he must put one or two questions to his niece and to Thompson.

  He started to go back into the library. Then he checked himself, and, seeing Rushton hovering in the background, told him to go and draw the curtains across the window at the end. Just at present he felt that that was a task which he was incapable of performing. By way of keeping his self-respect he spoke almost harshly to the butler on the subject of a considerable amount of dust which was on Rushton’s coat and trousers. ‘Mr Henry mentioned that the other night,’ he ended.

  Rushton looked down, apparently rather surprised, and began to brush it off with his hand.

  ‘I am very sorry, sir, but I would respectfully suggest that it was due to carrying the — the table, sir.’

  With rather unnecessary ostentation Malcolm, hearing the remark, as he passed by rubbed his finger along the table. There was no sign of dust on it.

  Emily was still sitting where James had left her, without change of attitude except that now Thompson was trying to rouse her and had just got her to look up.

  ‘But who was it?’ she whispered. ‘Who was it we saw?’

  There was no doubt in James’ mind.

  ‘The real ghost, of course. And just as you were saying’ — he turned to Thompson — ‘how dangerous it was to believe in such things, you get this proof that it is even more dangerous not to believe and to go playing monkey tricks—’ He stopped abruptly, realising that he ought not perhaps to be saying things of that sort.

  Emily looked at the rector.

  ‘And do you believe that? Do you think that that was a ghost or — or—’

  ‘Miss Warrenton, what are you suggesting! You can’t think that anyone would purposely — why that would be—’

  ‘There’s no escape from the dilemma, Thompson.’ In his joy in pinning down the rector and perhaps forcing him to be converted to his own beliefs, James quite forgot everything else. ‘If you definitely exclude the possibility of murder, you have got to believe that what we saw was someone who is not with us on the normal physical plane.’

  ‘There must be some other reason! Perhaps we all thought we saw that thing on the tower—’

  ‘Stop. Write down what you think you saw. Emily, do the same, and so will I.’

  Reluctantly Thompson put down a few words, but Emily only sobbed: ‘I couldn’t, I couldn’t.’ Even so there was no question that the rector’s description and James’ largely coincided. But Thompson was not going to give way so easily.

  ‘Then it must have been some hallucination — some trick of the light — so that we both thought that we saw the same thing. Why, the very fact that there is this coincidence shows that it must have been some optical illusion like that.’

  ‘Which Arthur saw too?’

  ‘How do we know what he saw? Something startled him, and he lost his foothold. And the next minute, neither he nor we saw anything of this figment of our imagination; or did either of you?’

  ‘No. I was thinking of that just now. But I came to the conclusion that my attention was occupied watching Arthur trying to keep his hold on the parapet.’

  ‘Don’t.’ Emily broke down again. ‘I can see that all the time, and I am afraid I shall go on seeing it. All the same, I seem to remember unconsciously noticing the figure — the other one — turn and go away until I lost him.’

  ‘You see?’ Thompson started to advance the theory that this proved that the figure must have been real, but after a word or two he realised that this landed him at once on the other horn of the dilemma. He hurriedly blustered away from it. ‘But in any case, it could not have been murder because we all three saw that — I am sure you will agree with me — though the right hand of this illusion was stretched towards — or seemed to be stretched towards Arthur, because of course there was nothing there at all, it never touched him.’

  ‘No, it never touched him. But he swayed before he fell as if he had been pushed.’

  ‘Nonsense, Emily. Don’t get ideas like that into your head.’

  ‘Well, I for one intend to stick to the idea that it was a trick of our imagination, and that it happened to coincide with the moment that the accident happened.’ Thompson tried hard to look as if he really believed that the whole thing could be settled so simply and satisfactorily.

  ‘Nonsense.’ James brushed the theory away relentlessly. ‘There is no doubt, no doubt whatever, that we saw a spirit, unless you are going to accept Emily’s theory of murder. Nice thing for a girl like her to think! You’ve been reading too many novels, that’s what has happened to you. And who are you going to say did it? You’ve got a nice lot of suspects! I suppose you won’t include either of us because you can give us an alibi yourself. But you can have everyone else. I’ll give you a few good questions. Why were Rushton’s clothes dusty? Why was Gregory so long before he came? Why was Christopher out when we rang him up just now? What was Henry doing in the tower? I didn’t quite hear what Young said about that, anyhow; I must ask him. For that matter, was Young really only looking for a poacher? You can go on for some time; and in the end probably you will find that Thompson had a string worked from the library curtain which pulled Arthur backwards.’ The mention of that diverted the flow of James’ heavy, coarse badinage from his niece to the rector. ‘At any rate, it’s pretty clear that when you threw back the curtain, it was a sign to Arthur, and I’ll trouble you not to try to play fool-tricks on me that way again.’ Having crushed Thompson, he turned back to Emily and again asked her whom she was going to select finally for the part of murderer.

  ‘Don’t, Uncle, don’t. Don’t make it worse. I don’t know what it was at all, and it isn’t for me to find out. I don’t know what I saw by now; but do leave me alone. Please.’

  Fortunately for her, the telephone bell diverted her uncle. Christopher was ringing up and asking what was wrong with Arthur.

  ‘But how did you know?’ Thompson, who had answered, began to say.

  ‘That anything was wrong with Arthur? Mother said you told her so. At least — half a second.’ Mrs Vaughan’s voice could be faintly heard speaking to him. ‘She says that she guessed that from what you implied.’

  When a few minutes later Thompson put down the telephone, having somewhat abruptly broken the news and arranged that Christopher was to come round at once, he still looked puzzled.

  ‘I really do not think that anything in my manner or words can have led Mrs Vaughan to guess — and yet she was right.’

  ‘Julia? Julia’s always guessing, and she’s got the most unpleasant habit of being right.’

  But Thompson shook his head.

  ‘I really do wonder how Christopher knew.’

  Further consideration was interrupted by the arrival of the doctor. After a short examination he collected all of them in the library to tell them what they already knew; death had been instantaneous.

  ‘There will have of course to be an inquest. I have no idea what happened, but it is of course necessary after any such accident. I can certify the cause of death, but I haven’t yet heard why he was there and so forth.’

  ‘It’s all quite simple really,’ James broke in, ‘even if the story is a little long; but it’s going to be a little difficult. You see, the principal witness passed over from this life about four hundred years ago, and it is doubtful if he can be induced to come and give evidence. At least, that’s what really happened, but I’m bound to say that Thompson has some idea about optical illusions and Emily wants to ask all sorts of questions.’

  ‘No, Uncle. I don’t want to do anything. At any rate, not tonight.’

  ‘I think you had better go to bed and leave all this until tomorrow. Otherwise I shall be having another patient.’

  ‘But we’ve got everybody here to talk to now — why not find out the facts while it’s all fresh in our minds,’ James persisted, ignoring Emily’s shudders.

  ‘Because for one thing I’m not the person to do the questionin
g. That will have to be done by—’

  Before the doctor could complete his sentence, James broke out again.

  ‘But we’re not all here. Gregory’s missing again.’

  ‘He told me,’ Henry had been waiting for his opportunity, ‘that as there was nothing that he could do, he was going to bed. He said he liked a little sleep himself. Even though he didn’t care much for Arthur, I must say that I thought it was a little callous.’

  ‘Oh, you did, did you? When I want your opinion, I shall ask for it. Meanwhile, I think that Gregory’s right. We’d better all go to bed. Although there’s something that I know that I want to ask — but for the life of me I can’t remember what it is. Something about you, Henry.’

  ‘What about Christopher?’ Rather irritatingly Henry brushed aside his uncle’s remarks. ‘Who is going to deal with him?’

  Unexpectedly, Emily looked up.

  ‘Would you leave me to deal with Christopher? I think I can hear him coming now. I think — I think that if I talk to him I shall be able to go to sleep, but not otherwise.’

  Despite James’ protests she stuck to her point and finally, with the assistance of the doctor, carried it. She emerged from her short interview with her cousin apparently far more composed than she had been before.

  Within half an hour, the lights of Amberhurst Place went out one after another, save in Gregory’s bedroom. It need not be a long account, but something must be done quickly — he was not going to incur Linnell’s strictures a second time. Before the night was out, he must somehow convey the story to The New Light. It should make his reputation if only he could think of the right angle to take, the right headlines to suggest, if it was his duty to suggest headlines — he was profoundly ignorant about these things. After all, it was not every day that there was an opportunity to be in on such a story as this from the very start. Gregory was delighted.

  14

  Inspector Perceval

  But Linnell did not share Gregory’s opinion of his own cleverness. He had regarded the early morning telephone call at two a.m. as erring on the side of melodrama, and he was not at all sure that it was not an ironic retort to his own lecture of keeping news fresh. He took no steps to disturb the morning issue of The New Light. People who fell off towers in remote country houses because they thought that they saw ghosts were in his opinion of little interest, even to the sensation-loving public. He drafted a rather colourless paragraph for the Setting Sun, the allied evening paper, in which he toned down the glaring eccentricities which Gregory had condescendingly considered suitable for the Press. He did not care two straws about it, and he was rather surprised when it went in at all. The matter was of no importance to his mind.

  As it happened, though, something was wanted for the next day’s New Light to fill up an odd column, and it must also be remembered that Arthur Vaughan, too, had a friend in the newspaper’s office. The combination of these two accidental circumstances therefore made it fortunate that Gregory had supplemented his telephone message by an express letter. Linnell was able to make up something. He was not quite sure that he understood what had happened, but a little thing like that never troubled him.

  Whilst carefully remembering the law of libel, he allowed himself considerable play as to the facts. The resulting account laid a good deal of emphasis on the activities of the figure which the Reverend Cyprian Thompson was so pathetically anxious to describe as nothing but an optical illusion. To tell the truth, Linnell had recently been reading something on the subject of poltergeists, those mischievous spirits who throw things about, and he got them slightly mixed with more orthodox ghosts. Otherwise the paragraph was quite accurate — except that it called Amberhurst Place ‘Amberhurst Park’, talked of the Reverend ‘Cyril Thomson’ as being the ‘vicar’, and referred to the legend of ‘the quarrel of two brothers in the days of Good Queen Bess’. Warrenton’s name was, however, spelt rightly.

  This paragraph was to have its effect on several people, but that in the Setting Sun served only to annoy Gregory. Here was he taking all this trouble to be in the midst of events which he considered to be at least exciting, and they dismissed it all in a few sentences with very indifferent headlines. If they had used his copy the whole country would be talking of the exciting events which had been happening around them! He sat down and wrote a coldly sarcastic letter to Linnell (which was an entire waste of time) and refused to allow himself to be appeased by the next morning’s New Light. Once more his own work had been rejected and a far inferior substitute preferred.

  On James Warrenton the paragraph was merely an additional irritation. He was being very difficult about the whole thing, even though he enjoyed the opportunities which it gave him to triumph over the rector and lacerate the feelings of everyone else concerned. What particularly annoyed him, even before the newspaper paragraph appeared, was that the local police should insist on holding even the most perfunctory inquiry into the matter, and the idea of an inquest infuriated him. It was nothing to him that it was essential in law; like many other people of strong individuality, he considered that the law was all very well for his neighbours but had no right to interfere with his own private affairs.

  He objected to there being an inquest held on the death of Arthur Vaughan ostensibly because (a) there was no such thing as death — his nephew had merely passed over to a slightly different form of existence; (b) it was quite obvious what had happened; (c) Inspector Perceval of Periton was an ass who did not even know it until he had been told so — by James, needless to say; and (d) it was his own nephew and his own house and his own ghost, and he ought to be able to do what he liked.

  It was, of course, all of no avail, and he had to content himself with being as obstructive as possible. He even tried to refuse to give evidence, and when it was firmly explained to him that he would have to, he suggested that it would be more to the point if they served a subpoena on the ghost. Privately he intended that if he was made to go, he would say what he chose and talk mainly about spirits, whilst making quite sure that the activities of the rector, at which he shrewdly guessed, should be made public. If they tried to stop him, he could use his deafness.

  Indeed, the unfortunate Thompson needed no harrying and his part in the affair no advertising. His original faint and feeble attempts had been speedily brushed aside, and the whole district knew of his activities. His parishioners, he found, could be divided into three bodies. Those who said bluntly that there was no fool like an old fool; those who regarded him as morally responsible for the accident and who showed their displeasure with varying degrees of openness; and those who felt that he had made himself supremely ridiculous.

  The latter party might be subdivided into those who felt that they were restrained from laughter by what had happened and those who were restrained by no such consideration. Amongst the latter the most heartless were the choir-boys, and his accidental arrival in the vestry before evening service one day to find one of them using a surplice to give a realistic imitation of himself acting the part of the ghost had been one of the most humiliating moments in a life in which humility had not played a conspicuous part. He could find solace, as he himself said, pronouncing the ‘o’ very long, nowhere. Even Emily seemed preoccupied and to be avoiding him. He tried to think that she was still suffering from the shock of that night and was anxious not to be reminded of it; but he did not really believe that it was so. If affairs did not mend soon, he must change to some other parish, a very long way off, he feared. A pity; he liked the Amberhurst district. There was really no need to rub it in, but James constitutionally always kicked a man when he was down.

  Meanwhile, the local inspector, ignoring James’ opinion of him, had been asking very much the same questions as it had been suggested that Emily should ask. Christopher, it appeared, had been out to dinner. He had got back a little later than had been expected and the time he took to return from his friends’ house was rather long, but he explained this by the fact that he had a puncture and
had stopped to change the wheel. Perceval’s inquiries at the garage confirmed that they had mended a puncture for Christopher the next day, and that it was reasonable for him to say that the old wheel was difficult to get off. It was not conclusive, but it was difficult to do anything but accept it — provisionally, at least. Local gossip, too, said that Arthur had been the principal provider of the family income; it did not happen to be true, but it made the inspector think that there could be no motive for Christopher to kill his brother — even indeed if anyone had done so, a point which was, to his mind, irritatingly obscure.

  As for the dust on Rushton’s clothes, he hardly considered it. It was quite impossible to prove that it was not acquired while getting the top of the trestle table and taking it to and from the foot of the tower.

  Equally it was true that from Gregory’s room no view of the tower was visible, and voices might not be heard at first. Indeed, it hardly occurred to the inspector to consider that Gregory’s arrival had been unduly delayed.

  There remained the presence of Malcolm in the tower. In answer to his questions, in fact almost before them, Henry explained that he had suspected the performance the previous week of being a fake for which he had held — erroneously — Gregory responsible, possibly in conjunction with Rushton, since his cousin had admitted cross-questioning the butler. He had therefore decided that a repetition at the same time and day of the week was probable, so he determined to be there and to see for himself. Accordingly, he had made Thompson’s arrival an excuse to go away, but on looking at the clock as he started to leave the room, he had seen that there was still some time before the performance on the tower was due to start, and having genuinely some work to do, he thought that he might as well finish it first instead of hanging about on the top of the tower. ‘Which, inspector, I did not very much want to do.’