The Grey Room | Page 4

save of a description common to them all,
was, within twelve hours, to confront men and women alike with
reality. They were destined to endure at close quarters an occurrence so

astounding and unparalleled that, for once in their lives, they would
find themselves interesting to the wider world beyond their own limited
circuit, and, for their friends and acquaintance, the centre of a nine
days' wonder.
Most of them, indeed, merely touched the hem of the mystery and were
not involved therein, but even for them a reflected glory shone. They
were at least objects of attraction elsewhere, and for many months
furnished conversation of a more interesting and exciting character than
any could ever claim to have provided before.
The attitude to such an event, and the opinions concerning it, of such
people might have been pretty accurately predicted; nor would it be fair
to laugh at their terror and bewilderment, their confusion of tongues
and the fatuous theories they adventured by way of explanation. For
wiser than they - men experienced in the problems of humanity and
trained to solve its enigmas - were presently in no better case.
A very trivial and innocent remark was prelude to the disaster; and had
the speaker guessed what his jest must presently mean in terms of
human misery, grief, and horror, it is certain enough that he would not
have spoken.
The women were gone to bed and the men sat around the fire smoking
and admiring Sir Walter's ancient blend of whisky. He himself had just
flung away the stump of his cigar and was admonishing his son-in-law.
"Church to - morrow, Tom. None of your larks. When first you came to
see me, remember, you went to church twice on Sunday like a lamb. I'll
have no backsliding."
"Mary will see to that, governor."
"And you, Henry."
Sir Walter, disappointed of his hopes respecting his nephew and
daughter, had none the less treated the young man with tact and
tenderness. He felt for Henry; he was also fond of him and doubted not
that the youth would prove a worthy successor. Thomas May was one

with whom none could quarrel, and he and his wife's old flame were
now, after the acquaintance of a week, on friendly terms.
"I shan't fail, uncle."
"Will anybody have another whisky?" asked Sir Walter, rising.
It was the signal for departure and invariably followed the stroke of a
deep-mouthed, grandfather clock in the hail. When eleven sounded, the
master rose; but to-night he was delayed. Tom May spoke.
"Fayre-Micheil has never heard the ghost story, governor," he said,
"and Mr. Travers badly wants another drink. If he doesn't have one, he
won't sleep all night. He's done ten men's work to-day."
Mr. Fayre-Michell spoke.
"I didn't know you had a ghost, Sir Walter. I'm tremendously interested
in psychical research and so on. If it's not bothering you and keeping
you up - ."
"A ghost at Chadlands, Walter?" asked Ernest Travers. "You never told
me."
"Ghosts are all humbug," declared another speaker - a youthful
"colonel" of the war.
"I deprecate that attitude, Vane. It may certainly be that our ghost is a
humbug, or, rather, that we have no such thing as a ghost at all. And
that is my own impression. But an idle generality is always futile -
indeed, any generality usually is. You have, at least, no right to say,
'Ghosts are all humbug.' Because you cannot prove they are. The
weight of evidence is very much on the other side."
"Sorry," said Colonel Vane, a man without pride. "I didn't know you
believed in 'em, Sir Walter."
"Most emphatically I believe in them."

"So do I," declared Ernest Travers. "Nay, so does my wife - for the best
possible reason. A friend of hers actually saw one."
Mr. Fayre-Michell spoke.
"Spiritualism and spirits are two quite different things," he said. "One
may discredit the whole business of spiritualism and yet firmly believe
in spirits."
He was a narrow-headed, clean-shaven man with grey hair and
moustache. He had a small body on very long legs, and though a
veteran now, was still one of the best game shots in the West of
England.
Ernest Travers agreed with him. Indeed, they all agreed. Sir Walter
himself summed up.
"If you're a Christian, you must believe in the spirits of the dead," he
declared; "but to go out of your way to summon these spirits, to call
them from the next world back to ours, and to consult people who
profess to be able to do so - extremely doubtful characters, as a rule -
that I think is much to be condemned. I deny that there are any living
mediums of communication between the spirit world and this one, and I