"What is it? What has happened? Percy, is that you?"
By that time Armathwaite had partly raised the fallen man, who did not seem to have an atom of breath left in his body. Mrs. Jackson, too, came from the kitchen with a lamp, and Marguérite appeared on the stairs.
"What's the matter?" she cried again. "Did Percy fall? Is he hurt?"
"I imagine he missed his footing on the stairs," said Armathwaite coolly. "At any rate, he struck the floor with such a thump that he is winded.... Now, old chap, pull yourself together! Can't you stand? Shall I carry you to a chair?"
In a dazed way Whittaker endeavored to stand upright. At once he uttered a croak of agony, and would have collapsed once more if Armathwaite were not supporting him.
"By Jove!" exclaimed the other, "I'm afraid he is more damaged than I thought. Show a light here, Mrs. Jackson. Now, go ahead, and open the door of Mr. Whittaker's room if it is closed. I'll take him there, and find out the extent of the mischief."
Even in the confusion of the moment Armathwaite noticed that Percy was gazing at the wall near the clock with the distended eyes of fear. Mrs. Jackson saw it, too, and with the outspokenness of her class, did not hesitate to put her thought into words.
"Eh, my, but t' poor young man'll hae seen t' ghost," she cried.
"I—I saw some spook," muttered Whittaker weakly. "Where is it? What was it? I'm sure I saw something."
"Go upstairs," Armathwaite commanded Mrs. Jackson angrily. "Or, better still, hand the lamp to Miss Meg, and stop talking nonsense."