‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I should just loathe to be haunted. But quite seriously, then, if we mustn’t laugh, what an incredible thing that dagger is.’
The others had gathered round her, and she and Wyatt now stood in the centre of a group looking up at the trophy. Wyatt turned round to Abbershaw. ‘What do you think of it, George?’ he said.
‘Very interesting – very interesting indeed. It is very old, of course? I don’t think I’ve ever seen one like it in my life.’ The little man spoke with genuine enthusiasm. ‘It’s a curio, some old family relic, I suppose?’
Wyatt nodded, and his lazy grey eyes flickered with faint amusement.
‘Well, yes, it is,’ he said. ‘My ancestors seem to have had high old times with it if family legends are true.’
‘Ah!’ said Meggie, coming forward. ‘A ghost story?’
Wyatt glanced at her.
‘Not a ghost,’ he said, ‘but a story.’
‘Let’s have it.’ It was Chris Kennedy who spoke; the young rugger blue had more resignation than enthusiasm in his tone. Old family stories were not in his line. The rest of the party was considerably more keen, however, and Wyatt was pestered for the story.
‘It’s only a yarn, of course,’ he began. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever told it to anyone else before. I don’t think even my uncle knows it.’ He turned questioningly as he spoke, and the old man shook his head.