The Ghost It Was

by Richard Hull

  The inspector had thought a moment.

  ‘It would be rather cold up there, I suppose?’

  ‘No, it had turned very much milder. You may remember; in fact, we had ceased to have fires in the house even at night. It wasn’t that. It was simply that I was afraid of being seen, and so of stopping anything whatever happening. If I did scare away whoever it was, nothing would be simpler than for the whole performance to be called off. But if there was someone on the tower, I thought I should catch him as he came down.’

  There were obvious weak points in that as a story, but instead of pressing them, the inspector waited for Henry to continue.

  ‘The piece of work — an income-tax return, as a matter of fact; they’re rather prevalent in April and May — took me longer than I had expected, and I had not finished it when I saw that I must hurry if I was to be in time. I meant to be even quicker than I was in going there, but, on the way, I thought that I heard footsteps beyond the shrubbery, so I had to be careful. Of course, I know now that it was Young, but I didn’t then. Anyhow, when I reached the bottom of the tower I saw at once that I was right because the door was unlocked and half open. I wish now that I had gone straight up to the top, because—’

  ‘Because?’ prompted Inspector Perceval as Malcolm hesitated.

  ‘Inspector, I wasn’t particularly fond of my cousin, but I might have done something to help him.’

  It was equally possible, thought the inspector, that he did go up, and that when there he had helped himself. It would have been quite simple to conceal beforehand in the tower the cloak and hat which he intended to wear as the ghost — indeed, no one had seen him while he was supposed to be making up this income-tax return — and then hide them again in the confusion before he reappeared. Indeed, but for the accidental arrival of Young, no one need have seen him enter or leave the tower.

  However, the time had nowhere near arrived in Inspector Perceval’s opinion for making such suggestions. He must talk to Young again before that, and he must find out some motive. In any case a suspicion, a possibility, an opportunity, all these were very far from a proof, and, so far, the story which Malcolm was telling fitted in sufficiently well with his presence in the tower, the only fact which raised any real suspicion.

  While all this raced through the inspector’s thoughts, he only said aloud:

  ‘And when you got to the tower, tell me exactly what happened. You found the door unlocked and half open, you said?’

  ‘Yes. So, I went very quietly up the stairs, almost to the top, and there I stood and listened. I very soon knew who it was who was there, because I heard a series of those subdued noises, half-way between a cough and a clearing of the throat, for which my Cousin Arthur was notorious. In fact, it used to irritate all of us rather. Then I heard him move very faintly, but only a step or two; when he was a yard or so away from the top of the steps in the tower I could hear nothing. For a bit I stood there, wondering whether to expose myself at once or wait to see if someone else came. I was just going out when I remembered the footsteps that I had heard — Young’s in fact — and I thought that if I stayed where I was I might catch both the man on the tower and whoever was helping him. Forgetting that it was Arthur and not Gregory as I had imagined, I was expecting to see Rushton. Then I remembered, and I could not think who the accomplice could be, for the rector never entered my head. The next thing I heard was a thud outside.’

  ‘You are sure you heard that?’

  ‘Quite.’

  Perceval made a mental note to find out whether that was possible from where Malcolm had said that he was, but he still said nothing, and waited for Malcolm to go on.

  ‘My first idea was to run down and see what it was, but when I was half-way down I thought that while I was doing so, whoever was on the top might get away, so I ran up again and went on to the roof. I suppose my uncle and the others had started to come round by then, or they would have seen me. Anyhow, there was no one up there and so, by now completely puzzled as to where Arthur had got to, but not yet beginning to realise what had happened to him, I went down again — rather more slowly this time, because I couldn’t make it out and didn’t know what to do. Consequently, I was almost the last to arrive, and, as you know, Young at once commented on the fact that I had come from there.’

  ‘I see.’ Silence fell. Then Malcolm began to speak again.

  ‘I may be a fool, Inspector, but I’m not quite such a fool as that. We will assume for the moment, if you please, that I decided to murder my cousin, and we will pass by the fact that there is really only a very poor motive — it is not as if my uncle had only two nephews — and that it required that I should have at the right place rather unusual properties at a time when I could not know that my cousin would be present—’

  ‘But you did guess.’ For once Perceval allowed himself to interrupt.

  ‘Which I certainly did guess — but only guess. I could not possibly know. But, anyhow, we will leave all that aside, and you still have to deal with the fact that I apparently chose a moment when there were certain to be at least two witnesses. For if my guess was right, my uncle’s attention was going to be called to the tower, and presumably somebody had to do it. There might, for all I knew, be several other witnesses. When I left the library, Spring-Benson was there as well as Miss Warrenton. Whether they would remain of course I did not know — actually, as you have heard, one of them did and one of them did not — but anyhow, have you ever heard before of a murderer who deliberately arranged that at the actual moment that he did his crime he should call attention to himself by putting phosphorescent paint on a most peculiar disguise, and who also took care that there should be certainly one eyewitness, probably two, and possibly four, who should actually see him do the crime? Now, have you ever heard of it?’

  ‘Frankly, no, sir, I have not. But all the same, assuming that someone did do the murder — and you will excuse my saying that you are jumping to conclusions — he did arrange just exactly and precisely that, or at least it happened, and he must have known that he ran the risk.’

  ‘So that it doesn’t let me out more than anyone else? In any case, may I remind you, my good man, that all those witnesses will be obliged to swear that no murder was actually done?’

  The inspector liked being called ‘my good man’ just about as much as anyone else did. He considered that there had been no need to produce a defence until it was asked for. Moreover, the last sentence made him want to prove that there had been a murder, and, though Malcolm’s manner seemed genuine, it had annoyed him the whole time. It had been at times almost patronising, and no one likes being patronised. At any rate, Inspector Perceval was quite determined not to let things rest as they were, but there were, he had to admit, considerable difficulties.

  He was prepared to say no more for the present, but Malcolm never could keep silent. He must need ask one more blundering question.

  ‘And, anyhow, where is that hat and cloak? The one the ghost wore, I mean. But perhaps you think it was a real ghost?’

  15

  The New Arrival

  Inspector Perceval may have had his doubts as to whether it was a genuine ghost or not, but there was one man who had none. He arrived about midday on the day after the account had appeared in The New Light, and quite how he got into the grounds of Amberhurst Place no one knew. He seemed just to be there and to be talking to James Warrenton before anyone had realised that an additional person was present. But then Mr Fenby, as he stated his name was, was so small and insignificant, and so very anxious not to put anyone to the smallest particle of trouble, that it was impossible to do anything else than just accept the fact that he was there and, if possible, avoid tripping over him. Indeed, he really did rather resemble a footstool. It was natural to accept the fact that he was there, to use him when convenient and ignore him when it was not, and yet always to find that he was present.

  He began by congratulating James on the attitude that he was taking. ‘There is in
this world, unfortunately,’ he said, ‘so much unbelief that it is refreshing to find one who, like yourself, if I am correctly informed, accepts facts.’

  It was not until later that James wondered who his informant was. At the time, he did not even ask. He merely looked down upon little Fenby in a slightly patronising way, and, though well aware of the answer, asked him what the devil he was talking about.

  ‘This extremely interesting materialisation of one whose existence in this world was so closely bound up with this house. While one shudders at the fate of that poor young man who was so foolishly mocking at things which he did not understand, one cannot help seeing how wise a lesson can be drawn from the incident — and no doubt the young man himself is now living an existence that is more free.’

  ‘Arthur was forty-four, you know.’

  ‘So old as that? I had imagined from the newspaper account that he was younger.’

  ‘That paper was wrong in almost every detail. They always are.’

  ‘Particularly as to the Spirit World.’ Fenby pronounced the two words as if they were spelt with capital letters. ‘Apart from the crude attitude of unbelief which they, sad to say, adopt as their general standard, they are so unfair to the spirits who have departed from us. They speak of them as if they were foolish because they do not always remember every detail of their life on this side — as if any of us do that even while we are here — and in this case they really, though I hate to say anything against the Press or any of those who write for it, they really do seem to be imputing an almost revengeful action to a spirit, and I can hardly believe that to be right.’

  Mr Fenby shook his head sadly as if he were greatly distressed. As for James, he was quite surprised to find for what long periods of the conversation he was occupying the role of a listener. He was just about to ask the obvious question when Fenby anticipated him.

  ‘Really that is what has brought me here. I have formed a little group of loyal workers called the Departed Spirits Association. Perhaps you have heard of us?’

  ‘Never.’ James was unduly emphatic.

  ‘I feared not.’ Mr Fenby’s sigh was soon replaced by that gentle optimism which seemed to pervade all his thoughts. ‘We are a very small body and very unimportant, though I hope that one day — but let that be. Our object is to see that nothing unfair is said about any spirit. Of course, you know that the law is very unfair to—’

  But for the next few minutes Mr Fenby was quite unable to explain to whom in his opinion the law was unfair. He had to listen to the outpouring of James’ opinion on the subject of the local police, particularly Inspector Perceval, inquests, coroners, and the whole system of malicious interference by which James’ privacy was being invaded. As he went on, James warmed to his subject, and incidentally to his listener, who interrupted not at all save for occasional clucking noises of approval. Yet Fenby’s patience and perseverance were equal even to this strain. In due course James ran down, and the representative of the Departed Spirits Association was able to go on from almost exactly where he had been interrupted.

  ‘So many things are said against those who are what is known as “dead” which are really libellous, that it ought to be possible to bring an action to restrain people from saying them but, unfortunately, in law this is not permissible. The law, starting from the entirely erroneous idea that there is such a thing as “death”, goes on to say that causes of action also “die” with the person, and so it arrives at the monstrous conclusion that you may say or write or do anything you like about those who have passed on. Fortunately, they probably are indifferent to such trivial things, but, all the same, I and a few others have thought it right that there should be some society which should make it its duty to protect the memory of all those who are not with us, especially those who condescend to appear to us. That is why I have started and become the honorary secretary of the Departed Spirits Association, and that also is why I am here.’

  ‘To protect the memory of the ghost in the high hat?’

  ‘Exactly. At least I think so. I hope you will tell me all about his appearance in a few minutes’ time, but in general, you see, I like ghosts, and I want to see that they are fairly treated. Now I feel here that while Miss Warrenton will do her best to help us, she may be a little upset, and I am afraid that I shall not get much assistance from the Reverend Cyril Thomson—’

  ‘Cyprian Thompson. Another of that damned paper’s mistakes. Not that I care what you call the old fool.’

  ‘Thank you. But as I was saying, from him I hope for little. The clergy of the established churches I find very obstinate and averse to looking at new facts fairly. They even seem to me sometimes, though I hate to say it, not to be quite truthful, and to be given to quite ignorant criticisms. But let me not go on, on that subject. I am sure I can count on your assistance to vindicate the spirit who appeared on your tower the other night, despite the blundering stupidity and, I fear, the callousness of the Press and the police.’

  It was an angle that appealed to James, and when Mr Fenby went on to admit that he had been talking too much and that he hoped from now on to listen, the alliance was finally sealed. James even invited him to stay at Amberhurst Place and would take no refusal. Apparently before he was quite aware that he had consented, arrangements had been made to fetch Mr Fenby’s modest luggage ‘from a hostelry in the village known, I believe, as the “Green Fox” (which seems to me improbable, but the world is so inaccurate), where I left my suitcase this morning in case I should desire to remain in the neighbourhood for a night.’

  Then the conversation went on to what James had seen immediately before Arthur Vaughan had fallen from the tower. There seemed to be no detail of the whole subject that was not of inexhaustible interest to Fenby. The time when Malcolm and Spring-Benson had gone, the reason they had given — or rather absence of reason — the exact moment at which Thompson had pulled back the curtain, even these were lightly touched on, but when it came to the next few minutes, Fenby’s curiosity was insatiable. He wanted to know exactly where the ghost had been when James had first noticed it; he made James imitate the actions and attitude it had adopted as it went along the roof of the tower, and he asked numerous questions as to the clothes which it wore, a matter which seemed to James to be of rather little importance. Finally, he wanted to know exactly how, in James’ opinion, Arthur had lost his balance.

  ‘Because that, you know, is really the crux of the whole matter. This foolish newspaper seems to imply that the spirit pushed your nephew, and that it was in consequence of that, that he fell. Now that must be a calumny. It is not a rational or a probable act for a spirit to perform, nor is physical force an agent generally used by spirits. They could have recourse to it if they wished, I have no doubt, and in this case the spirit might well be incensed by the trick which was being played upon it — no spirit likes doubt thrown upon its very existence — but to take so violent a course of action, that would be most improbable, and so unlike most spirits, who are, after all, such gentle and lovable creatures.’

  It was a new angle to James, who found it hard to envisage himself developing an affection for a ghost. However, he accepted it. On the point, however, of what the ghost did, he was of very little help. He steadfastly refused to admit that he saw any signs of foul play by the figure he had seen advancing with its right hand stretched out towards Arthur Vaughan. All the same, he hesitated more than once, and his manner showed that he was not being entirely honest as to everything which he said. Fenby was finally left with an uneasy impression that James was not quite sure what he had seen, but that he was going to stick firmly to the story that the ghost had never touched Arthur, although he was inwardly conscious that it was strange that Arthur, when he fell, should have been beyond the parapet.

  Nevertheless, Fenby managed to convince James that he had been immensely helpful, and somehow, without spoiling that effect, he managed to check the flow of James’ eloquence and get leave to talk to Emily.

 
They found her sitting in the library, her back turned to the window and the view of the tower.

  ‘Here’s your chance, Emily,’ James boomed at her. ‘This is Mr Fenby who has come to defend the ghost we saw. He likes ghosts, he says, so if you want to produce your story about it being a murder, now’s your chance. At least, no.’ James suddenly saw the difficulty. ‘I suppose you two will be on opposite sides, so one of you will have to convince the other.’

  Before James had finished, Emily was trying to stop him. She had got up when they came in and then, on seeing Fenby, had suddenly turned a deathly white. For a moment it had looked as if Fenby’s existence was not unknown to her, and as if his arrival had so startled her that she was on the verge of fainting. But James noticed none of this. He only heard her protesting as he finished that actually she had not got any definite views.

  ‘Really,’ she went on, ‘I would rather not talk about it at all, but I feel it to be my duty to do so—’

  ‘Duty! Where are we getting to?’ James interrupted. ‘What between affection and duty for ghosts, I don’t know where I am.’

  ‘But surely as a convinced spiritualist you can see that!’ Fenby seemed amazed to an extent that was unexpected in so mild a character, and grumblingly James agreed that perhaps it was not irrational. He was, however, to receive one more surprise. Emily, for once expressing a definite wish, asked to be allowed to give such information as she could to Mr Fenby by himself.