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The Professor’s Experience

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      But the days passed by, and Dan Peterson was unable to make good his word. Everybody, outside of the immediate household at Black Aspens believed the two mysterious deaths were the result of the murderous intent of one or more human beings, and refused absolutely to consider the spook nonsense offered in explanation by the friends and relatives of the victims.

      Meanwhile there were a few further inexplicable happenings in the old house. Now and then, one or another would notice the odour of prussic acid, or would report a glimpse of a ghostly figure prowling round at night, or tell of hearing low moans at four o’clock in the morning.

      But, usually, these were the experiences of only one, and lacking corroboration, could be set down to imagination, which was now especially vivid in all the party. Often Eve or Norma recounted some of these mysteries, but Landon laughed at them and said the girls had been dreaming.

      Professor Hardwick experienced no similar illusions, though he longed to do so. Indeed, he really watched and listened, hoping for some message or manifestation from his friend, Gifford Bruce. But none was vouchsafed to him, and though interested in the experiences of the others, he still longed for a personal experience.

      And finally one came to him.

      At four o’clock one morning, he lay awake, as often, listening to the strokes of the hall clock, which none of them could ever hear without a thrill, and slowly in at his bedroom door floated a dim, ghostly shape.

      There was not sufficient light for him to discern more than the outline of what seemed to be a tall, gaunt figure, with a shawl over its head. Nearer to him the thing came, and the old Professor felt himself grow cold with fear. He had often boasted of his desire to see the ghost, and of his scorn of fear in connection therewith. But now, that the spectre had really appeared to him, the old man trembled all over, and tried in vain to cry out.

      His throat contracted, his tongue was powerless, and a sort of paralysis of terror held him in thrall.

      The approaching figure seemed not to walk, but progressed by a strange gliding motion, and came within a foot or two of the bed, where the Professor lay, shivering with dread.

      Still but a misty wraith, the awful thing leaned over the prostrate man and as the shawled head drew near, Professor Hardwick saw dimly the face of his visitor, and it was a skull!

      The fearsome sight of hollow eye-sockets and grinning, fleshless jaws, gave a sudden strength to the frightened man, and he uttered a faint terrorized scream.

      Slowly the spectre raised a long, white-draped arm, and Hardwick saw a small glass tumbler in front of his face. Only for an instant, and then the phantom faded away, and vanished into space.

      Again the Professor called out, and hurrying footsteps were heard in the hall.

      Mr. Tracy was away in Boston, and Rudolph Braye had gone to New York, so the only other man in the house was Landon, who came hastily to the Professor’s door in his dressing-gown and slippers.

      “What is it,” he asked, “did you call? Are you ill?”

      “The—the ghost——” the old man articulated with difficulty.

      “Nonsense!” said Landon, “you’ve been dreaming. Where’s a ghost? I just came along the corridor, and I didn’t see any.”

      “Don’t tell me I didn’t see it,” babbled the Professor. “I did, Wynne, as plain as I see you now.”

      Landon had brought his own bedroom candle, and by its scant light he scanned the old man’s face.

      “You’re all scared up, Professor,” he said, kindly. “Guess I’ll give you a nightcap, and send you back to sleep again, it’s only four or so.”

      “I know it, Wynne, it was just four when that—that thing came. I wasn’t asleep, I haven’t been for an hour or more. Just at four o’clock,—the hall clock was striking,—I saw that awful thing come stalking in—and—and it had a death’s head under that white shawl——”

      “Hold on, there, Professor, if that’s so, there must be somebody who did the stalking! I’m going to make search.”

      Landon called Thorpe, and together the two went over the whole house, searching in every nook and cranny that could possibly conceal an intruder. But none was found. Every door and window was securely fastened, and as Landon had often observed, not a mouse could get into Black Aspens, once it was locked up for the night.

      “Nothing doing, Professor,” he reported cheerfully, after the search. “We lighted up the whole place, and we scoured for burglars or ghost-pretenders, but nothing human has entered this house to-night. Nor was your spook any of ourselves, for Milly has rounded up the girls, and I’ve made sure that the doors that shut off the servants’ quarters have not been opened. Now, what have you to say?”

      “Only that I saw the thing,” the Professor had pulled himself together, “and I’m not prepared to say whether I think it was a phantom or a person pretending to be one. You’re sure about the servants?”

      “Absolutely, they couldn’t get through.”

      “What about Stebbins? Could he have been concealed in the house all night?”

      “No; and if he had, how could he have got out? All the doors and windows are locked on the inside, just as they’ve been all night. He couldn’t lock them behind him.”

      “Thorpe could let him in and out, if he wanted to.”

      “Into the back part of the house. But Thorpe himself can’t get into the main house, the rooms that we use, after I lock the doors between. Come, now, Professor, you know all that as well as I do. Either you dreamed your ghost, or it’s the real thing, this time. Take your choice.”

      Landon was so cheerful and took the thing so lightly, that Hardwick began to feel more at ease, and recounted his story in further detail. “It was the real thing,” he concluded. “I wish Rudolph or Mr. Tracy had been here. They sleep in this wing, and they would have come to me more quickly than you did, Wynne.”

      “I came the moment I heard you call, at least, as soon as I could slip into a bathrobe.”

      “I know you did, and it wouldn’t have mattered. That thing didn’t walk away down the corridor, you know, it just faded away,—vanished into the air. I could see it——”

      “How could you, with no light?”

      “I don’t know how I did. It wasn’t exactly luminous, and yet it gave out a very faint glow, enough for me to see it, anyhow. Oh, I shall never forget its awful grin!”

      Professor Hardwick told his tale to Eve and Norma later in the day, and in the afternoon the men returned. Mr. Tracy said he had been to Boston, to see the trustees of a church that had called him to its pastorate, and Braye had been in New York looking after some of his late uncle’s business affairs.

      Both men were deeply interested in the story of the ghost, for as they said, Professor Hardwick was not one to imagine or to think himself awake when he was dreaming.

      They listened attentively, and Tracy summed it up by saying, “Well, if Professor Hardwick saw that, it makes me feel like believing in the supernatural.”

      “Me, too,” agreed Braye. “I don’t take much stock in the stories of the girls, for Eve is a visionary creature, and Norma is very imaginative. But when a rational, scientific man sees things, I believe the things are there to be seen! At least, I’m willing to believe. I would feel more certain if I saw it myself,—and yet,—to tell the truth I’ve no desire to see it. I’ll take other people’s words for it. How about you, Tracy?”

      “I don’t believe I’m psychic,

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