“Yes, sir, sometimes. Why?”
“You know Althorp House, of course?”
“Yes, the ’aunted ’ouse, as some people call it. Myself, I don’t believe in ghosts.”
“Neither do I,” I laughed, “but I’ve heard many funny stories about that place. Have you ever heard any?”
“Lots, sir,” replied the man. “We’re always being told of strange things that ’ave ’appened there, yet when we ’ave a look around we never find anything, so we’ve ceased to trouble. Our inspector’s given us orders not to make any further inquiries, ’e’s been worried too often over idle gossip.”
“What’s the latest story afloat concerning the place?” I asked. “I’m always interested in mysteries of that sort.”
“Oh, I ’eard yesterday that somebody was seen to get out of a taxi-cab and enter. And ’e ’asn’t been seen to come forth again.”
“That’s curious,” I said. “And haven’t you looked over the place?”
“I’m not on duty there. Perhaps my mate ’as. I don’t know. But, funnily enough,” added the officer, “Mad ’Arry has been tellin’ me something about it a moment ago—something I can’t understand—something about the garden. I suppose ’e’s been a-fancyin’ something or other. Everybody seems to see something in the garden, or at the windows. Why, about a week ago, a servant from one of the ’ouses in the Terrace came up to me at three o’clock in the afternoon, in broad daylight, and said as how she’d distinctly seen at the drawin’-room window the face of a pretty, fair-haired girl a-peerin’ through the side of the dirty blind. She described the girl, too, and said that as soon as she saw she was noticed the inmate of the place drew back instantly.”
“A fair-haired girl!” I exclaimed, quickly interested.