"We must inquire into this," said James, magisterially and feeling for his glasses. "Oh, by the way"—he drew a dirty envelope out of his pocket—"here's something for you, young shaver." He threw it across to Jerry. "I was sitting in the kitchen in his lordship's castle and being waited on by a dark-eyed wench. I told her of us here and mentioned you. She said she knew you and asked me to give you that. And, to be sure, she would know you," added James, half to himself, "seeing Mrs. Moon is your grandmother, and a fine figure of a woman. But touching this here ghost——"
Jerry rose from the table and retreated to a corner of the warm room to read his note. But he kept his ears open all the time to the coachman's investigation of Sarah's doings with the tramp. The note was from Victoria asking Jerry to come over and see her, and stating that there was a gentleman stopping at the castle. "There's something queer about him, Jerry, as he keeps himself very much to himself. Also he knows your whistle as you whistles to me, which is funny. Can't you come over and see me?" This, with all allowance for mis-spelling, was what Jerry deciphered. Then he thrust the note into his pocket and returned to the table.
"He had an awful cough, this tramp," said Sarah.
"Ghosts don't cough," remarked cook.
"This one did awful, and he looked that pale and thin as never was."
"He went away in broad daylight?" asked James.
"It was getting dark—about five maybe. I was sorry for him, and I would have let him in to see Miss Alice, he seemed so disappointed."
"Ah, Sarah, it's a pity you didn't let him in."
"But, Mr. James, you can a-bear tramps."
"Or ghosts," added the cook, fearfully.