Poppy was staring now.
“Queer smell?” he used her words. “What do you mean?”
“When we first came here,” the housekeeper ran on, only too glad of the chance, I guess, to tell her unusual story, “I thought I detected a peculiar smell in the house. Like drugs. But it seemed to go away when we let in fresh air. Then that night the door slammed. Pa and I had gone to bed. We got up, thinking that a window was open. But we could find no open windows. And in the hall I noticed that peculiar smell again, only stronger. I asked Pa if he noticed it. ‘A dead rat,’ says he. ‘No,’ says I sharply, ‘it isn’t a dead rat—it’s some kind of a drug.’ Well, we went back to bed again, finding everything all right, as I say. Then the next night the door slammed again. And there in the hall was that same peculiar smell. The third night Pa and I watched. But first we went around and locked all the doors. Yet at ten o’clock we heard the sound again. And trying the doors, we found that the one leading into the master’s chamber was unlocked.”
“And you’re sure you locked it?”
“I had told Pa to lock it, but, as I say, you’re never sure of anything he does. The fourth night, though, I locked the door myself.”
“And what happened?”
“We later found it wide open. And again that peculiar smell hung in the hall. Since then Pa and I have been locking ourselves in our room. Yet I never get to sleep until after ten o’clock. And always at the same hour, when the clock has struck ten, I hear the door slam. The last two nights we’ve heard other things, too—the creaking of windows, as I say, and even footfalls.”
“Well, I’ll be jiggered!” cried Poppy; then he got my eyes to see if I were as struck with excitement as he was.
“Pa always did believe in ghosts and the like,” the little old woman ran on, determined to tell all she knew. “But me—it was a parcel of nonsense, I said. But now what can I say? I don’t know how much of the situation you’ve grasped from my talk—and I guess, if the truth is told, I do talk an awful lot—still, I’m not ashamed of that trait, for it’s characteristic of the women on our side of the house. There was my Aunt Samantha, for whom I was named. She was a real talker, to my notion. Laws-a-me! How I enjoyed my visits with her before she got paralysis of the jaw. As I say, I don’t know how much of my talk you remember, rambling as it is, but I have tried to make you understand that something queer is going on in this house. You say it’s tramps. I don’t believe it. For listen to this,” and the voice was mysteriously lowered. “When Corbin Danver died,” came slowly, “I was the first blood relative to get here. I wanted to have a final look at him, before the others came, to see if the undertaker had removed the two ugly warts on his nose, as was proper, I thought, but Dr. Madden, who since has been in Europe, said ‘no.’ He had reasons, he declared, more important than warts, for keeping the casket closed. This, coming on top of the old gentleman’s unusually sudden death, aroused my suspicions. And being of a determined nature—another Danver trait—I decided to see for myself. Nor did I even take Pa into my confidence. That night at twelve o’clock, with everybody else asleep, I crept downstairs.... I was sickened for a moment by a strangling odor.... You can see what I’m leading up to—every night since we have been here, at ten o’clock, the hour my relative died, that same smell seeps through the upper hall. A peculiar drug. I can’t name it. And however much I have scolded Pa in the past about his silly belief in spirits, I now find myself wondering if the body of Corbin Danver, saturated with that drug, is indeed coming back in spirit form. And to what purpose? Has he some message for me?—some instructions? If so, why doesn’t he come to me directly instead of slamming the door of his bedchamber night after night? And there is Miss Ruth. Why is she coming here secretly? Some one must have sent for her. But who? And now, in final, I have Lawyer Chew’s ultimatum to get out of here promptly before the law puts me out. Oh,” and the woman threw up her thin hands, a hopeless look taking hold of her tired face, “it seems to me that a hundred things have happened since I came here to unnerve and bewilder me. And how glad I am to have you boys to talk to, you can’t imagine. I think I would go crazy if I had to be here alone very many hours.”
Poppy got around so he could whisper to me.