A flood of moonlight streamed in from the window on the landing.
Beyond this was a wide oak staircase, and ascending this he beheld a strange-looking figure, clad in a long steel-coloured cloak.
To all appearance the figure was that of a woman.
But Peace had never remembered to have seen any such person in the hostelry since he had dwelt there.
“Holloa there—who are you? Speak, woman,” shouted out Peace.
No answer was vouchsafed to this.
“If you don’t speak and say who you are I’ll fire. I’ve a loaded pistol in my hand. Do you hear? For the last time I say speak, if it only be to save your life.”
The figure turned the angle of the stairs, but made no answer.
A buxom servant wench opened the door of her bedroom, and exclaimed—
“Mother Brickett’s ghost!”