“Yes, he is much annoyed by the spirit of an evil old housekeeper here who lost her life by falling downstairs, and she is continually pushing him down my cellar stairs. He is furious.”
“Is this butler of yours any connection of Jeremiah Anklebone?” I asked.
“Yes, he is a cousin,” said Greenbracket; “all that family have second sight, and see and dream strange things.”
“And who,” I asked, “may this housekeeper be who pitched your butler down stairs?”
“Oh,” said Greenbracket, “she’s a badly constituted wraith, and her name is Annibal Strongthorn. She was housekeeper ages ago to this Sir Roger de Wanklyn in this very old house we are in.”
“What happened to this Sir Roger? Has he told you?”
“Oh! yes he fell over the cliffs.”
“Bless me, and did this old housekeeper woman push him over. Was she a murderess?”
“Oh, how can I tell,” said Greenbracket peevishly, “he has told me nothing of the kind.”