“‘I don’t know,’ Stella Dean gasped, making a vigorous attempt to appear unconcerned; ‘perhaps they’re shunting something heavy downstairs.’
“‘But we should hear them,’ Vera Cummings replied. ‘I believe it’s Hester Holt; she’s dead, and for some mysterious reason her spirit haunts this room.’
“‘Nonsense,’ Stella Dean stammered. ‘How can you be so silly! There are no such things as ghosts.’
“After a while, the case stopped shaking, and the two girls went on with their work. Lunch time came and they both rose to get ready to go out. Vera Cummings had put on her hat, and was walking to the door, when she heard a sharp cry. She turned round, and there was Stella Dean standing in front of the looking glass and gazing at the reflection of a pale face, with two dark menacing eyes glaring fixedly at her from over her shoulder. Vera recognised the face at once. It was that of the girl she had so often seen following Stella, the girl Pete Simpkins had told her was Hester Holt.
“She was so frightened, for she knew for certain now that the thing she was looking at was nothing earthly, that she ran out of the room, and as she crossed the threshold, the door slammed behind her with a terrific crash. Ashamed of her cowardice, she tried the door-handle. It turned, but though she pressed her hardest, the door would not open. She called to Stella, there was no reply. Greatly alarmed, she ran to the elevator and fetched the man in charge of it. They both pushed the door, and still it would not open. They were deliberating what to do, when they saw the handle suddenly turn and the door gently swing back on its hinges. They peered in. Stella Dean was lying on the hearthrug in a dead faint. She died that same night.”
“Died!”
“Yes! Some people fancy she committed suicide, but her mother declares that her heart had long been affected and that she died from syncope. Anyhow, she’s dead, and the office is closed, as nothing will persuade Vera Cummings to work there till Mrs. Bell is well enough to return. I tried to get permission to spend a night there, but Mrs. Bell dare not give it. She says the landlord is furious with her for allowing the report to get abroad that the building is haunted, and threatens her with a libel action if he hears anything further.”
“That’s a great pity,” I said; “for few cases have interested me more.”
“What do you make of it?” Rouillac asked.
“Why,” I replied, “the same as you. There can only be one conclusion. Stella Dean was madly jealous of Hester Holt, and during that drive in the buggy she killed her. Whether the murder was premeditated or done in a sudden fit of blind passion—you tell me her temper at times was very uncontrollable—of course we cannot say. From your sketch of her, however, I am inclined to think she planned the whole thing.”