So to the servants' quarters went Dollops forthwith, and scraped acquaintance with Jarvis, the butler, by offering him an impossible cigar, and asking off-handedly for Mr. Deland in the meanwhile.
"Dunno where 'e is at the moment," replied Jarvis, with a wink and a smile. "Seen 'im talkin' to the lydies only a few moments back, in the drorin' room. But since then.... Lunnon chap, ain't yer?"
"Yus!" Dollops's voice rang with pride of birthplace. He threw back his narrow chest and stuck his fingers in his waistcoat and surveyed his interlocutor with upthrown chin.
"Well, so'm I. Come dahn with the family last January from their Lunnon 'ouse. Park Mansion, it's called. Big plyce in Eton Square. Know those parts, I'll lay."
"Every inch of 'em," vociferated Dollops with emphasis. "Luvly plyce, ain't it? They tells me yer got a ghost in this 'ouse, and blimey! I'm that frightened ter meet 'er, me backbone's almost come rahnd ter me front. 'Ugs the gentlemen at night, don't she?"
Jarvis threw back his head and let his hearty laugh ring out over the rafters of the servants' hall.
"Wouldn't 'ug you, young 'un, not for nothing—if it were light enough ter see yer face by," he retorted with heavy wit. "But it's truth. And the wimmenfolk is that nervous at night there's no managing with 'em nohow. Some sprightly feller in a by-gone century went and man-'andled a girl from these parts an' carried 'er 'ere by force. Then 'e got 'er into trouble, so the story goes, an' she up and stabbed 'erself with the spindle of her spinning wheel—that there contraption wot stands in the library terd'y and makes a rare job er dustin' fer Minnie the under 'ousemaid. She don't 'arf kick at it, I kin tell yer! Anyway, that was 'ers! And we 'ad a footman 'ere last May wot fancied 'imself very partickler as a braive bloke. Well, he says, says 'e, 'I'll sit up ternight and go dahn by the dungeon door, where she's supposed ter come from, and see wot I kin see.' 'Course we laughed at him, and there was a bit of friendly gamblin' done—you know—an' I backed the blighter for a pound-note."
"An' what 'appened?"
"Ah, that's the scrub of it, as Shakespeare says, me lad. Young fool sat up there, and then abaht three o'clock in the mornin' we 'eard 'im come a-screamin' ter 'is quarters, lookin' as pale as death. 'E said 'e'd 'eard the Peasant Girl rustlin' abaht in her room, and the chink o' chains, and then the iron grille door began to open, and an unearthly voice called out,'Avaunt ye, varlet, or I'll break yer bones!' and then.... 'E was off like a pea from a catapult, and that was the last we ever 'eard of 'is bravery. 'E gave notice next day, and forfeited a month's money ter get away from the plyce. And I lost me money, of course! That's wot comes of backin' a bad starter—mostly orlus loses yer money I find."
During this enlightening recital Jarvis had been polishing the table silver, pausing between his task to relate the story, while Dollops's pale face went the colour of ivory, and the hair at the back of his neck began to prickle with fright.