“‘And not always then,’ Arthur murmured, gazing intently at the parson as the latter was about to pour the contents of the cream-jug into his cup. ‘Everything that appears to the eye white and sticky is not cream! Some animals have brains, even pigs—and some dairymen are frauds—most of them!’
“‘Good gracious me!’ the Rev. Silas cried hastily replacing the jug. ‘You surely don’t mean to insinuate——’
“‘He doesn’t mean anything!’ Mrs. Hartley interrupted with considerable impatience, ‘he is unusually silly this afternoon—so pray excuse him!’ and—with the regular six-months-in-Paris accent—‘revenons à nos moutons, s’il vous plait. I am anxious to hear about the ghost.’
“Mr. Wetherby looked a trifle sulky; he fought shy of sceptics, and he no longer enjoyed his tea.
“‘Now, mind I don’t ask you to believe me!’ he began, ‘although there are plenty of people in this parish who will confirm what I say; but eighty, or a hundred or so years ago, a son poisoned his father in this very house.
“‘The manner of the poisoning was quite orthodox—arsenic in apple dumplings. There have been many parallel cases, chiefly, I believe, in Liverpool.
“‘Arsenic being an irritant, causes considerable vomiting, hence the old man must have had several attacks of sickness prior to the one that terminated his existence as he was travelling downstairs to fetch a doctor. He died, it is said, in excruciating agony on the landing at the top of the first flight of stairs.’
“‘And it is his ghost that haunts the house?’ Mrs. Hartley hazarded.
“The Rev. gentleman nodded. ‘Just so,’ he said, ‘and it was this apparition, undoubtedly, that your little boy saw just now. It always appears on November 4, the anniversary of the murder, and—’ Mr. Wetherby was going to add something that, judging from the increased solemnity of his voice, would have been very impressive, when Mr. Hartley cut in: ‘Then at all events we shall have a reprieve, a year’s undisputed possession, subject to no interference on the part of the spook—Mr. Whatever’s his name.’ He laughed irreverently, ‘You certainly won’t catch me giving up this lease for any so immaterial a reason. No, thank you! I cannot get as good a bargain as this every day in the week!’
“The Rev. Silas rose to go. ‘Very well then!’ he said, bowing stiffly, ‘I could say more—but I won’t! I am sorry I have said as much. Some sceptics are never convinced! Some sceptics do not wish to be convinced! Some sceptics may be convinced, but prefer to appear unconvinced!