“For the first three nights of our stay here, he never slept; never slept at all. After that——”
“Which room did he occupy?” interrupted the doctor, breathlessly. “Not the one over this?”
“Yes, it was. Why? Do you know anything against it?” questioned Lady Whitney, for she saw Dr. and Mrs. Parafin exchange glances.
“Only this: that I have heard of other people who were unable to sleep in that room,” he answered.
“But what can be amiss with the room, Dr. Parafin?”
“Ah,” said he, “there you go beyond me. It is, I believe, a fact, a singular fact, that there is something or other in the room which prevents people from sleeping. Friends of ours who lived in the house before Miss Gay took it, ended by shutting the room up.”
“Is it haunted, sir?” I asked. “Mr. Featherston thought it might be.”
He looked at me and smiled, shaking his head. Mrs. Parafin nodded hers, as much as to say It is.
“No one has been able to get any sleep in that room since the Calsons lived here,” said Mrs. Parafin, dropping her voice.