“Maud shared my scepticism and when she wanted to use the room, brought forward the most ingenious arguments to overcome my scruples.
“I declared it was impossible—it would be sheer sacrilege. I was accused of inconsistency. I disbelieved! how then could there be any danger!—the injunction in the will was unreasonable and absurd. In short, I had no peace, I had to yield, so making the stipulation that we should first find out some means by which we could prove that there was no foundation for the story of the haunting, I reluctantly gave my consent.
“Somewhat to my astonishment, Maud had already formed a plan for testing the room. She had heard me speak of you, you were a Wentworth; if you discovered anything we could rely on you to keep it secret—and so my wife suggested that you should be put in the room, ‘just to sample it.’ I hesitated, I did not speak. I suppose my silence gave consent: the rest you know. I won’t press you to tell me if you saw those beastly things, if you did the sequel only serves us right. Anyhow nothing can excuse my having sanctioned disobedience to that injunction in the will.
“The fact and the nature of the haunting is a secret no longer—the cause none but a Wentworth shall ever know.
“I need hardly enjoin you who are one of us to maintain silence on that point.
“We shall shut up the house for a time, until, in fact, the worst of the affair has blown over—and—when we meet again, let us hope it will be under happier circumstances.”
We never met again; within six months of my departure, both Robert and his son were dead—killed in a motor accident abroad. The property is now in the hands of distant, of VERY distant relations, and I feel no compunction in saying what I know about it.
Only—if you repeat this to Mr. Elliott O’Donnell, please substitute fictitious names.