“I think old houses get saturated with nerve-germs, truly I do. That's the real explanation of ghosts. I am sure rooms are haunted by the sorrows and mournful preoccupations of the people that die in them. I am not very superstitious, and I am so glad that you are n't. I trembled for you. You see those other housekeepers—”
“Do tell me about the other housekeepers,” I begged, “especially the one just before me. What was she like?”
“Oh, a little, fat thing, white as wax, very bustling, but with no real ability. She stayed with me for some time, though, and I was beginning to think that—you know, Janice, I owe you an apology.”
“Why, dear Mrs. Brane?”
“Because I never told you about those three housekeepers and their alarms. It was rather shabby of me not to warn you. But, you see, I did n't want to suggest fears to you. I hope I won't suggest them now. But all my other housekeepers have been haunted.”
“Haunted?” I asked with as much surprise as I could assume.
“Yes; the first heard a voice in the wall, and the second knew that some one was in her room at night. The third was so badly frightened that she would n't tell me what happened at all.”
“Where is she now?”
“I don't know. She went away leaving me no address, and I've never heard a word of her since. At first I thought she might have made away with something, some money or jewelry, but I have never missed anything.”
“Mrs. Brane,” I asked hesitatingly, “what is your explanation of these apparitions, of the things that alarmed the housekeepers, of the things that frightened Delia and Annie and Jane?”