Neither had Greta; and the Baron began to wonder whether he had merely imagined those ghostly cries.
He coughed. "Er—well," he said, "it might have been the wind. Every sound upsets me so. The doctor says—"
"There was no wind last night," said Greta, and the Baron dropped a herring on the floor. One of the dogs gobbled it up.
The Baron's face turned red, but Fru Hansson laughed and said, "Ah, but Baron Karl really must stay—at least until after the Christmas celebration. I am sure there will be no more noises. Hanssonborg is extremely quiet."
The Baron toyed with a potato. He hesitated. Then he looked up and fastened his gaze upon Greta. Her hair was golden and her lovely eyes were as blue as Swedish lakes in summer. He did not want to go away from Hanssonborg and leave Greta.
"Very well," he said. "I shall stay. But if I should hear that horrible noise again, I shall leave, because the doctor says—"
The doctor again! Karl looked like a smacked pussycat. Greta speared a fried egg.
In the kitchen Fru Svenson told Erik what the butler had heard at the breakfast table. "So Fru Hansson persuaded the Baron to stay," she said, setting a pot of sausages on the stove. "And he will, too, unless he should be disturbed again."
"And what disturbed him, Fru Svenson?" asked Erik, his eyes upon the pot.
"A terrible racket in the night, it seems," she replied. "Though what it could have been I'm sure I can't imagine."