"Well, I've told you what happened," he said. "Those other two men were neither of them any more likely to be impressed by ghosts than you seem to be, but I can tell you that I've seen both of them labouring under such intense fear that they were on the very verge of breaking down. That's all."
Two pairs of blue eyes fixed themselves on the man of law's face and grew wider and wider; two mouths gradually opened.
"I'll just tell you about it," said the solicitor, who was plainly not averse to playing the part of narrator, "and then, when you've heard everything, you can decide for yourselves whether you care to go further into the matter or not. Now, until just over four years ago High Elms Farm was tenanted by an old man named Josiah Maidment, who'd been there for quite thirty years. He was a queer, eccentric old chap, who had never married, and who lived almost by himself. He never had a housekeeper, nor a female servant in the house—whatever he needed doing was done for him by the woman at the neighbouring cottage."
"That's where we got the keys of the house," said Isaac.
"Just so. Well," continued the solicitor, "a little more than four years ago old Maidment suddenly disappeared. He went out of the house one morning, dressed in his second-best suit, as if he was going to market—and he was never seen again. Never seen—never heard of! Nor could we find any relation of his. He had money in the bank, and he had securities there which proved him a well-to-do man. We advertised and did everything we could, but all to no purpose. We kept things going for a while; then the stock was sold, and very soon we let the farm to a new tenant. That's just three years since. And that was when all the trouble began."
"With the ghosts?" said Simpson.
"Well, with something," said the solicitor, smiling. "The new tenant had no sooner got his stock in than he became aware that there was something wrong. The very first night he was there his sheep-dog, an animal which he'd had for years, disappeared. They thought it had gone back to the old home, but it hadn't—it had just disappeared. Then the horses in the stables began to make such noises at night that it was impossible to sleep. If you went to them you found them shivering with fright. Just the same with the cows. As for the sheep, they were always found in the morning huddled together in a corner of whatever field they were in. In short, the whole place was panic-stricken. But by what? Nobody ever saw anything. The farmer and his men watched for nights, without effect. Yet as soon as ever their backs were turned the thing began. And at the end of a month the men went—and were thankful to go."
The twin-brothers were now thoroughly fascinated. Their eyes invited more.
"The second man came, after an interval," continued the solicitor. "Just the same things happened to him. His sheep-dog disappeared—his horses, cattle, and sheep were frightened out of their lives. And then came worse. This man was a young married man who had a wife and one child. The child was a bright, lively boy of about five. One afternoon its mother was busy, and had let it go into the orchard to play under the apple-trees. As it was a long time in coming in she went to seek it. She found it—yes, but how do you think she found it? Mad! Utterly mad! that poor child had lost its reason—through fright. And so that tenant went. There, gentlemen, is the story of High Elms Farm. It's queer, but it's true."
Isaac Greaves drew a long breath, stared hard at his brother, and shook his head.