The Mystery of the Downs | Page 5

table in there and we will study it again when we come
down after exploring the other parts of the house."
He picked up the lamp and went back to the room they had left. He
deposited the sheet of paper on the table and placed the candlestick on
it to keep it from being blown away by the wind.
"Now for the ghosts upstairs," he said cheerfully, as he returned.
He noted with a smile that his companion made a point of keeping
behind him in all his movements. When they had climbed the first
flight of stairs, they stood for a moment or two on the landing, listening,
but could hear no sound.
"Let us try this room first," said Marsland, pointing to a door opposite
the landing.
The door was closed but not shut, for it yielded to his touch and swung
open, revealing a large bedroom with an old-fashioned fourposter in the
corner furthest from the door. Marsland glanced round the room
curiously. It was the typical "best bedroom" of an old English
farm-house, built more than a hundred years before the present
generation came to life, with their modern ideas of fresh air and light**
and sanitation. The ceiling was so** low** that he** had** almost
touched it with his head as bodya** small narrow-paned windows,
clo** **sh with-* out, looked as though they had been hermetically
sealed for centuries.

The room contained furniture as ancient as its surroundings: quaint old
chests of drawers, bureaux, clothes-presses, and some old
straight-backed oaken chairs. On the walls were a few musty old books
on shelves, a stuffed pointer in a glass case, a cabinet of stuffed birds,
some dingy hunting prints. The combination of low ceiling, sealed
windows, and stuffed animals created such a vault-like atmosphere that
Marsland marvelled at the hardy constitution of that dead and gone race
of English yeomen who had suffered nightly internment in such
chambers and yet survived to a ripe old age. His eyes wandered to the
fourposter, and he smiled as he noticed that the heavy curtains were
drawn close, as though the last sleeper in the chamber had dreaded and
guarded against the possibility of some stray shaft of fresh air eluding
the precautions of the builder and finding its way into the room.
"Nothing here," he said, as he glanced round the floor of the room for
broken pieces of glass or china ornaments that might have been
knocked over by the wind or by a cat. "Let us try the room opposite."
She was the first to reach the door of the opposite room to which they
turned. It occurred to Marsland that her fears were wearing off. As he
reached the threshold, he lifted up the lamp above his head so that its
light should fall within.
T** as ** **bedroom also, deep and narrow as **** sneezed into the
house as an af** with a** **small, deep-set window high up in ** *os*
the door. The room was fur-* *nished in the old-fashioned style of the
room opposite, though more sparsely. But Marsland and the girl were
astonished to see a man sitting motionless in a large arm-chair at the far
end of the room. His head had fallen forward on his breast as though in
slumber, concealing the lower part of his face.
"By heavens, this is extraordinary," said Marsland, in a low hoarse
voice. With a trembling hand he placed the lamp on the large table
which occupied the centre of the room and stood looking at the man.
The girl crept close to Marsland and clutched his arm.
"It is Frank Lumsden," she whispered quickly. "Do you think there is

anything wrong with him? Why doesn't he speak to us?"
"Because he is dead," he answered swiftly.
"Dead!" she exclaimed, in an hysterical tone. "What makes you think
so? He may be only in a fit. Oh, what shall we do?"
Marsland pushed her aside and with a firm step walked to the chair on
which the motionless figure sat. He touched with his fingers the left
hand which rested on the arm of the chair, and turned quickly.
"He is quite dead," he said slowly. "He is beyond all help in this
world."
"Dead?" she repeated, retreating to the far end of the table and clasping
her trembling hands together. "What a dreadful lonely death."
He was deep in thought and did not respond to her words.
"As we have discovered the body we must inform the police," he said
at length. "I did not know he was ill," she said, in a soft whisper. "He
must have died suddenly."
Marsland turned on her a searching questioning look. Her sympathy
had conquered her vague fears of the presence of death, and she
hesitatingly