The town had not been built long. Indeed, ten years previously it had only one anything like orthodox street; so that it was the last place in the world where one would expect to come across a haunted house. Yet I heard of three haunted houses at least whilst I was there.
The one I think most likely to interest my readers I heard of in this way. I had been to the Zoological Gardens, and was returning by tram, when a journalist called Rouillac, with whom I had a very slight acquaintance, came running up to me in a great state of excitement. “O’Donnell,” he cried, “I have unearthed something that will interest you—the case of a haunting in an office in Race Street.” He then proceeded to give me an account of it.
The office was rented by a Mrs. Bell, a typist who employed two girls, Stella Dean and Hester Holt.
One day Hester Holt failed to put in an appearance.
“If she is ill,” Mrs. Bell said to Stella Dean, “she ought to have let me know. There was nothing wrong with her yesterday, was there?”
“Not that I am aware of,” Stella Dean replied. “When she parted from me, just across the way, she went off in the best of spirits. I expect she’ll turn up all right to-morrow.”
The morrow came, and Hester Holt not arriving, Stella Dean was despatched in the dinner-hour to find out what had become of her. She returned looking very white and scared.
“Why, Stella,” Mrs. Bell exclaimed. “What on earth’s the matter?”
“Hester’s gone away without telling anyone where she was going,” Stella Dean answered.