“I dunno, Sir,” he said, “but it looks as if our show’s gettin’ left. The ’Orsepital ’Ouse Spook’s been and gone off the water waggon, I reckon.”
“How?” I asked. A fear seized me that my rival had been found out. That would mean my downfall, too.
“Breakin’ windows and such,” Hall said; “reg’lar Mafficking night they ’ad last night. Put the wind up them all proper.”
“Poltergeistism!” I ejaculated.
“Beg pardon, Sir,” said Hall, “that’s a new one. I didn’t set out for to upset you.”
“He’s not swearing, for once, Hall,” said Pa Davern. “Tell us about it.”
We learned that the night before there had been a séance in the Hospital House. A new spook had appeared, calling herself “Millicent the Innocent.” Asked what she was “innocent” of—a perfectly natural question in view of the name—she grew exceedingly angry and threatened to show her power. Some daring member of the audience challenged her to “carry on,” and immediately a window-pane was smashed inwards, from the outside, a washstand holding a basin full of water was upset, and a large wooden chandelier crashed down from its hook on the wall. The room was well lit at the time. It was a good twenty feet above ground level, the guards had completed their evening round, and all prisoners were locked inside the house. Nobody was within a dozen feet of any of the objects affected.
After breakfast I went down to the Hospital House and interviewed Mundey and Edmonds. They were elated and not a little excited by the adventures of the night before. They showed me the record of the séance, and sent me to examine the broken pane.
I saw it could have been broken with a stick from the window of a neighbouring room—a dark little closet at the head of the stairs. I went there. The window was nailed up and covered with cobwebs. Perfect! But in the grime on a little ledge below the window was the fresh imprint of a foot. I took my embassy cap and dusted it over. It was clear my rival had a confederate. Except for that little slip over the footprint his work had been very thorough, and I wondered who it could be. In those days I knew Hill only by sight, or I might have guessed.
The camp buzzed with the discussion of the new phenomenon. Compared with this exhibition of the power of the Unseen over material things, the rational movements of the glass had become a very minor problem. I hoped it might be forgotten altogether, or accepted much as we laymen accept the beating of our hearts—as the necessary but inexplicable condition for the continued existence of human life. But Alec Matthews was a persistent and uncomfortably thorough person. He came up to me one morning as I sat sunning myself against the south wall. I saw from his eye there was something in the wind.