“A lot of––mice.”
“Oh!” came in disappointed and skeptical tones.
“But, the ghost, Mr. Wade?”
“Yes! The arms and the head?”
“A fake figure put up by some practical joker for the purpose of frightening timid people and encouraging the credulous. I didn’t want to spoil your little picnic, so I kept still.”
“Those sounds, Lucien!” reminded Silvia.
“Were from a cat chorus. They were prowling about the house.”
“You’re sure some lawyer, Mr. Wade,” doubtfully complimented my grateful landlady, as we went out of the room after breakfast.
“Lucien,” asked Rob sotto voce, joining me on the veranda, “why don’t the cats you speak of catch that lot of mice?”