“Not at all,” said Malcolm, smiling faintly despite himself.
“I’m going to bed,” said Hirst, noticing the smile and resenting it. “Will you share my room with me, Somers?”
“I will with pleasure,” said his friend, “provided you don’t mind sleeping with the gas on full all night.”
He rose from his seat, and bidding the company a friendly good-night, left the room with his crestfallen friend. The others saw them to the foot of the stairs, and having heard their door close, returned to the coffee-room.
“Well, I suppose the bet’s off?” said the stout commercial, poking the fire and then standing with his legs apart on the hearthrug; “though, as far as I can see, I won it. I never saw a man so scared in all my life. Sort of poetic justice about it, isn’t there?”
“Never mind about poetry or justice,” said one of his listeners; “who’s going to sleep with me?”
“I will,” said Malcolm, affably.
“And I suppose we share a room together, Mr. Leek?” said the third man, turning to the fourth.
“No, thank you,” said the other, briskly; “I don’t believe in ghosts. If anything comes into my room I shall shoot it.”
“That won’t hurt a spirit, Leek,” said Malcolm, decisively.