From Out the Vasty Deep by Mrs. Belloc Lowndes

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Gradually Panton felt himself slipping off into that pleasant condition
which immediately precedes a dreamless, healthful sleep.

And then, all at once, his senses became keenly alert, for a curious
sound became audible in the darkening room. It was without doubt a
sound created by some industrious mouse, or perhaps--though that idea
was a less pleasant one--by a greedy rat. Swish, swish--swish--just like
the rustling of a lady's silk dress!

Panton stretched out his right arm, and knocked the wall behind him
sharply twice or thrice, and the sound stopped suddenly. But after a few
minutes, just as he was dropping off, it began again. But it no longer
startled him, as it had done the first time, and soon he was fast
asleep.

It might have been a moment, it might have been an hour, later, when
there came a sudden, urgent knocking at his door. He sat up in bed.

"Come in," he called out, now wide awake.

The door opened slowly--and there came through it a curious-looking
figure. It was James Tapster, arrayed in a wonderful dressing-gown made
of Persian shawls, and edged with fur. He held a candlestick in his
hand, and the candle threw up a flickering light on his pallid,
alarmed-looking face.

"Dr. Panton," he whispered, "I wish you'd come out here a moment."

And the doctor, cursing his bad luck, and feeling what he very seldom
felt, thoroughly angry, said ungraciously: "What is the matter? Can't
you tell me without my getting out of bed?"

Last night's excellent dinner, which couldn't have hurt any healthy man,
had evidently upset the unhealthy millionaire.

"Can't you hear?" whispered Tapster. His teeth were, chattering; he
certainly looked very ill.

"Hear! Hear what?"

Tapster held up his hand. And then, yes, the man sitting up in the big
four-post bed did hear some very curious noises. It was as if furniture
was being thrown violently about, and as if crockery was being
smashed--but a very, very long way off.

This was certainly most extraordinary! He had done Tapster an injustice.

He jumped out of bed. "Wait a minute!" he exclaimed. "I'll get my
dressing-gown, and we'll go and see what it's all about. What
extraordinary sounds! Where on earth do they come from?"

"They come from the servants' quarters," said Tapster.

There came a sudden silence, and then an awful crash.

"How long have these noises gone on?" asked Panton.

He had put on his dressing-gown, and was now looking for his slippers.

"Oh, for a long time."

Tapster's hand was trembling, partly from excitement, partly from fear.
"How d'you account for it?" he asked.

"One of the servants has gone mad drunk," replied Panton briefly.
"That's what it is--without a doubt! We'd better go down and see what
can be done."

And then, as there came the distant sounds of breaking glass, he
exclaimed: "I wonder everyone hasn't woken up!"

"There is a heavy padded door between that part of the house and this.
My room is on the other side, over what they call the school-room. I
left the padded door open just now when I came through--in fact I
fastened it back."

"That wasn't a very clever thing to do!"

The doctor did not speak pleasantly, but Tapster took no offence.

"I--I wanted someone to hear," he said humbly; "I felt so shut off
through there."

"Still, there's no use in waking everybody else up," said Panton, in a
businesslike tone.

He didn't look forward to the job which he thought lay before him; but,
of course, it wasn't the first time he had been called in to help calm a
man who had become violent under the influence of drink. "Go on," he
said curtly. "Show me the way! I suppose there's a back staircase by
which we can go down?"

He followed his guide along the broad corridor to a heavy green baize
door. Stooping, he undid the hook which fastened the door back. It swung
to, and, as it did so, there came a sudden, complete cessation of the
noise.

"Hullo!" he said to himself, "that's odd."

The two men waited for what seemed to Panton a long time, but in reality
it was less than five minutes.

"Would you like to come into my room for a few moments? I wish you
would," said Mr. Tapster plaintively.

Unwillingly the doctor walked through into what was certainly a very
pleasant, indeed a luxurious room. It was furnished in a more modern way
than the other rooms at Wyndfell Hall. "There's a bath-room off this
room. That's why Varick, who's a good-natured chap, gave it me. He knows
I have a great fear of catching a chill," whispered Mr. Tapster.

"We'd better go down," said the doctor at last.

"D'you think so? But the noise has stopped, and, after all, it is no
business of ours."

Dr. Panton did not tell the other what was really in his mind. This was
that the man who had now become so curiously quiet might unwittingly
have done a mischief to himself. All he said was: "I have a feeling that
I ought to go down, at any rate."

The words had hardly left his lips before the noises began again, and,
of course, from where the two men were now, they sounded far louder than
they had done from the doctor's bed-room. Heavy furniture was
undoubtedly being thrown about, and again there came those curious
crashes, as if plates and dishes were being dashed against the wall and
broken there in a thousand pieces.

"I say, this won't do!" Quickly he went towards the door, and as he
reached the corridor he saw the swing door between the two parts of the
house open, and Miss Farrow came through, looking her well-bred,
composed self, and wearing, incidentally, a short, neat, becoming
dressing-gown.

"I can't think what's happening!" she exclaimed. She looked from the one
man to the other. "What _can_ be happening downstairs?"

As Panton made no answer, Mr. Tapster replied for them both: "The doctor
thinks one of the servants got drunk last night."

"Yes, that must be it, of course. I'll go down and see who it is," she
said composedly.

But Dr. Panton broke in authoritatively: "No, indeed, Miss Farrow! If
it's what I think it is, the fellow will probably be violent. You'd
better let me go down alone and deal with him."

There had come again that extraordinary, sudden stillness.

"I think I'd rather come down with you," she said coolly.

All three started going down the narrow, steep wooden staircase which
connected that portion of the upper floor with the many rambling offices
of the old house.

Tapster and Blanche Farrow each held a candle, but Dr. Panton led the
way; and soon they were treading the whitewashed passages, even their
slippered feet making, in the now absolute stillness, what sounded like
loud thuds on the stone floor.

"Listen!" said Blanche suddenly.

They all stood still, and there came a strange fluttering sound. It was
as if a bird had got in through a window, and was trying to find a way
out.

"D'you know the way to the kitchen? I think that the man must be in the
kitchen, or probably the pantry," whispered the doctor to his hostess.

"I think it's this way."

Miss Farrow led them down a short passage to the right, and cautiously
opened a door which led into the kitchen.

And then they all three uttered exclamations of amazement and of horror.
Holding her candle high in her hand, their hostess was now lighting up a
scene of extraordinary and of widespread disorder.

It was as if a tornado had whirled through the vast, low-ceilinged
kitchen. Heavy tables lay on their sides and upside down, their legs in
the air. Most of the crockery--fortunately, so Blanche said to herself,
kitchen crockery--off the big dresser lay smashed in large and small
pieces here, there, and everywhere. A large copper preserving-pan lay
grotesquely sprawling on the well-scrubbed centre table, which was the
one thing which had not been moved--probably because of its great
weight. And yet--and yet it had been moved--for it was all askew! The
man who did that, if, indeed, one man could alone have done all this
mischief, must have been very, very strong--a Hercules!

The doctor took the candle from Miss Farrow's hand and walked in among
the debris. "He must have gone through that door," he muttered.

Leaving her to be joined by the timorous James Tapster, he went boldly
on across the big kitchen, and through a door which gave into what
appeared to be a scullery. But here everything was in perfect order.

"Where can the man have gone?" he asked himself in astonishment.

Before him there rose a vision of the respectable old butler, and of the
two tall, well-matched, but not physically strong-looking footmen. This
must be the work of some man he had not yet seen? Of course there must
be many men employed about such a place as was Wyndfell Hall.

He retraced his steps. "I think you and Mr. Tapster had better go
upstairs again, and leave me to this," he said decidedly. "I'll have a
thorough hunt through the place, and it'll probably take some time.
Perhaps the man's taken refuge in the pantry. By the way, where do the
servants sleep?"

"Oddly enough, they're none of them sleeping in the house," said Blanche
quietly. "They're down at what are called 'the cottages.' You may have
seen a row of pretty little buildings not very far from the gate giving
on to the high road? Those cottages belong to Mr. Varick. They're quite
comfortable, and we thought it best to put all the servants together
there. When I say all the servants"--she corrected herself quickly--"the
ladies' maids and Mr. Tapster's valet all sleep in the house. But Mr.
Varick and I agreed that it would be better to put the whole of the
temporary staff down together in the cottages."

"In that case I think it's very probable that the man, when he realized
the mischief he'd done, bolted out of doors. However, I may as well have
a look round."

"I'll come with you," said Blanche decidedly. She turned to Mr. Tapster:
"I think you'd better go upstairs, and try and finish your night more
comfortably."

She spoke quite graciously. Blanche was the one of the party who really
tolerated Mr. Tapster--Blanche and Mr. Tapster's host.

"All right, I think I will. Though I feel rather a brute at leaving you
to do the dirty work," he muttered.

He set off down the passage; and then, a few moments later, he had to
call out and ask Miss Farrow to show him the way--he had lost himself!

It took a long time to search through the big commons of the ancient
dwelling. There were innumerable little rooms now converted into store
cupboards, larders, and so on. But everything was in perfect order--the
kitchen alone being in that, as yet, inexplicable condition of wreckage.

But at last their barren quest was ended, and they came up the narrow
staircase on much more cordial and kindly terms with one another than
either would have thought possible some hours before. Then the doctor,
with an "Allow me," pushed in front of Miss Farrow in order to open wide
the heavy padded door. "I wonder that you heard anything through this!"
he exclaimed.

She answered, "I was awakened by Mr. Tapster talking to you. Then, of
course, I heard those appalling noises--for he had left the padded door
open. I got up and, opening my own door, listened, after you had both
gone through. When there came that final awful crash I felt I _must_ go
and see what had happened!"

CHAPTER XV

"Spirits? What absolute bosh! Miss Bubbles has been pulling your leg,
Varick. And yet one would like to know who has been at the bottom of it
all--whether, as you say the butler evidently believes, it is the _chef_
himself, or, as the _chef_ told you, one of the under-servants. In any
case, I hope no one will suppose that that sort of thing can be owing to
a supernatural agency."

"Yet John Wesley did so suppose when that sort of thing happened in the
Wesley household," came in the quiet voice of Sir Lyon.

The three men--Dr. Panton, Sir Lyon, and Lionel Varick--were taking a
walk along the high road. It was only eleven o'clock, but it seemed much
later than that to two of them, for all the morning they had been busy.
An hour of it had been taken up with a very close examination of the
servants, especially of the respectable butler and of the French _chef_.
They had both professed themselves, together and separately, as entirely
unable to account for what had happened in the night. But still, it had
been clear to the three who had taken part in the examination--Blanche
Farrow, Varick, and the doctor--that the butler believed the _chef_ to
be responsible. "It's that Frenchman; they're tricky kind of fellows,
ma'am," the man had said in a confidential aside. And, though the _chef_
was less willing to speak, it was equally clear that he, on his side,
put it down to one of the under-servants.

Then, quite at the end of the interrogation, they had all been startled
by not only the _chef_, but the butler also, suddenly admitting that
something very like what happened last night had happened twice before!
But on the former occasions, though everything in the kitchen had been
moved, including the heavy centre table, nothing had been broken. Still,
it had taken the _chef_ and his kitchen-maids two hours to put
everything right. That had happened, so was now revealed, on the very
morning after the party had just been gathered together. And then,
again, four days ago.

Miss Burnaby, who had slept through everything, exclaimed, when the
happenings of the night before were told her by Mr. Tapster, "The place
seems bewitched! I shall never forget what happened yesterday afternoon
to Helen." Turning to Dr. Panton, she continued: "My niece actually
believes that she saw a ghost yesterday!"

Helen said sharply, "I thought nothing was to be said about that,
Auntie."

Meanwhile the doctor stared at her, hardly believing the evidence of his
own ears. "You thought you saw a ghost?" he said incredulously.

And Helen, turning away, answered: "I would so much rather not speak
about it. I don't want even to think about it ever again!"

An hour later, as Panton and Sir Lyon stood outside the house waiting
for Varick, the doctor said a word to the other man: "A most
extraordinary thing happened here yesterday. Miss Brabazon apparently
believes she saw a ghost."

"Did she tell you so herself?" asked Sir Lyon quietly.

"No, her aunt mentioned it, quite as if it was an ordinary incident.
But I could see that it was true, for she was very much upset, and said
she would rather not speak of it."

They had then been joined by their host, and when once through the gate,
the doctor's first words had proved that his mind was still full of all
that had happened in the night.

"Surely _you_ don't put down what happened last night to a supernatural
agency?"

He was addressing Sir Lyon, and though he spoke quite civilly, there was
an under-current of sarcasm in his pleasant, confident voice.

"At one time I was very deeply interested in what I think one may call
the whole range of psychic phenomena," replied Sir Lyon deliberately,
"and I came to certain very definite conclusions--"

"And what," said Varick, with a touch of real eagerness, "were those
conclusions?"

Till now he had not joined in the discussion.

"For one thing, I very soon made up my mind that a great deal of what
occurs at every properly conducted seance can by no means be dismissed
as 'all bosh,'" answered Sir Lyon.

"Do you consider that the seance which took place the first evening you
were here was a properly conducted seance?" asked Varick slowly.

"Yes--as far as I was able to ascertain--it was. I felt convinced, for
instance, that Laughing Water was a separate entity--that was why I
asked her to pass me by. To me there is something indecent about an open
seance. I have always felt that very strongly; and what happened that
evening in the case of Mr. Burnaby of course confirmed my feeling."

Varick uttered under his breath an exclamation of incredulous amazement.
"D'you mean that you believe there was a _spirit_ present? It would take
some time to do it, but I think I could _prove_ that it was what I took
it to be--thought-reading of quite an exceptional quality, joined to a
clever piece of acting."

"You'd find it more difficult than you think to prove that," said Sir
Lyon quietly. "I've been to too many seances to be able to accept that
point of view. I feel sure that Miss Bubbles was what they call
'controlled' by a separate entity calling herself 'Laughing Water.' But
if you ask me what sort of entity, then I cannot reply."

Panton turned on him: "Then you're a spiritualist?" he exclaimed. "Of
course I was quite unaware of that fact when I spoke just now."

There was an underlying touch of scorn in his voice.

"No, I do not call myself a spiritualist. But still--yes, I accept the
term, if by it you mean that I believe there is no natural explanation
for certain of the phenomena we have seen, or heard of, in the last
twenty-four hours."

He purposely did not allude to what had happened between tea and dinner
in the hall last evening, but he felt certain that it was very present
to Varick himself.

"I spoke just now of the curious occurrences in the Wesley household,"
he observed, turning to the young doctor. "That, of course, is the most
famous case on record of the sort of thing which took place in the
kitchen last night."

"But why," cried Varick, with a touch of excitement, "why should all
these things happen just now at Wyndfell Hall? I know, of course, the
story of the haunted room. But most old houses have one respectable
ghost attached to them. I don't mind the ghost Pegler fancies she
saw--but, good heavens, the place now seems full of tricksy spirits!
Still, it's an odd fact that none of the servants, with the one
exception of Miss Farrow's maid, have seen anything out of the way."

Here the doctor broke in: "That's easily accounted for!" he exclaimed.
"I understand from Miss Farrow that her maid--a remarkable person
without doubt--has held her tongue ever since she saw, or thought she
saw, a ghost. But if the other servants knew everything we know, there'd
be no holding them--there'd be no servants!"

"Of course, I admit that in the great majority of instances those who
think they see what's commonly called a ghost probably see no ghost at
all," said Sir Lyon thoughtfully. "They've heard that a ghost is there,
and therefore they _think_ they see it."

"Then," said Varick, turning on him, "you don't believe Pegler did see
the ghost of Dame Grizel Fauncey?"

Sir Lyon smiled. "I daresay you'll think me very illogical, but in this
one case I think Pegler _did_ see what is commonly called a ghost. And
I'll tell you why I think so."

Both men turned and looked at him fixedly, both in their several ways
being much surprised by his words.

"I have discovered," said Sir Lyon in a rather singular tone, "that this
woman Pegler saw nothing for the first few days she occupied the haunted
room."

Panton stared at the speaker with an astonished expression. "What
exactly do you mean to imply?" he asked.

Sir Lyon hesitated. He was, in some of his ways, very old-fashioned. It
was not pleasant to him to bring a lady's name into a discussion. And
yet he felt impelled to go on, for what had happened in the hall
yesterday afternoon had moved and interested him as he had not thought
to be interested and moved again.

"The woman saw nothing," he said, slowly and impressively, "till Miss
Dunster arrived at Wyndfell Hall. I take that to mean that Miss Dunster
is a very strong medium."

"A medium?" repeated the doctor scoffingly. "Who says medium surely says
charlatan, Sir Lyon--not to say something worse than charlatan!"

Sir Lyon looked thoughtfully at the younger man. "I admit that often
mediums are charlatans--or rather, they begin by being mediums pure and
simple, and they end by being mediums _qua_ charlatans. The temptations
which lie in their way are terrible, especially if, as in the majority
of cases, they make a living by their--their"--he hesitated--"their
extraordinary, as yet misunderstood, and generally mishandled gift."

"Do you mean," asked Varick gravely, "that you believe Bubbles possesses
the power of raising the dead?"

Sir Lyon did not answer at once, but at last he said firmly: "Either the
dead, or some class of intermediate spirits who personate the human
dead. Yes, Varick, that is exactly what I do mean."

All three men stopped in their now slow pacing. Dr. Panton felt too much
surprised to speak.

Sir Lyon went on: "I think that Miss Bubbles' arrival at Wyndfell Hall
made visible, and is still making visible, much that would otherwise
remain unseen."

As he caught the look of incredulous amazement on the doctor's face, he
repeated very deliberately: "That is my considered opinion. As I said
just now, I have had a very considerable experience of psychic
phenomena, and I realized, during that seance which was held the first
evening I spent here, that this young lady possessed psychic gifts of a
very extraordinary nature. There is no doubt at all, in my mind, that
were she a professional medium, her fame would by now be world-wide."

Perhaps it was the derisive, incredulous look on the young medical man's
face which stung him into adding: "If I understand rightly"--he turned
to Varick--"something very like what I should call an impromptu
materialization took place in the hall yesterday--is that not so?"

There was a pause. Twice Varick cleared his throat. Who had broken faith
and told Sir Lyon what had happened? He supposed it to have been Miss
Burnaby. "Though I was present," he said at last, "I, myself, saw
absolutely nothing."

"I, too, have heard something of it!" exclaimed Dr. Panton, looking from
one of his two now moved, embarrassed, and excited companions to the
other. "And you were actually present when it happened, Varick?"

As the other remained silent, he turned to Sir Lyon. "What was it
exactly Miss Brabazon thought she saw?"

Sir Lyon, after a glance at Varick's pale, set face, was sorry that he
had mentioned the curious, painful occurrence; and, though he was a
truthful man, he now told a deliberate lie. "I don't know what the
apparition purported to be," he observed. And he saw, even as he was
uttering the lying words, a look of intense relief come over Varick's
face. "But to my mind Miss Brabazon evidently saw the rare phenomenon
known as a materialization. Miss Bubbles was lying asleep in the
confessional which is almost exactly opposite the door through which one
enters the hall from the house side, thus the necessary conditions were
present."

"I wish _I_ had been present!" exclaimed the doctor. "Either I should
have seen nothing, or, if I had seen anything, I should have managed to
convince myself that what I saw was flesh and blood."

As neither of his two companions said anything in answer to that
observation, Panton went on, speaking with more hesitation, but also
with more seriousness than he had yet shown: "Do I understand you to
mean, Sir Lyon, that you credit our young fellow-guest with supernatural
gifts denied to the common run of mortals?"

"I should not put it quite that way," answered Sir Lyon. "But yes, I
suppose I must admit that I do credit Miss Bubbles with powers which no
one as yet has been able to analyze or explain--though a great many more
intelligent people than has ever been the case before, are trying to
find a natural explanation."

"If that is so," asked the doctor, "why have you yourself given up such
an extraordinarily important and valuable investigation?"

"Because," said Sir Lyon, "I consider my own personal investigations
yielded a definite result."

"And that result--?"

"--was that what I prefer to call by the old term of occultism makes for
evil rather than for good. Also, I became convinced that the practice of
these arts has been, so to speak, put 'out of bounds'--I can think of
no better expression--by whatever Power it be that rules our strange
world."

He spoke earnestly and slowly, choosing his words with care.

"If your theory contains a true answer to the investigations which are
now taking place," exclaimed the doctor, "there was a great deal to be
said for those mediaeval folk who burnt sorcerers and witches! I suppose
you would admit that they were right in their belief that by so doing
they were getting rid of very dangerous, as well as unpleasant, elements
from out of their midst?"

The speaker looked hard at Sir Lyon. Nothing, as he told himself, with
some excitement, had ever astonished him, or taken him so aback, as was
now doing this conversation with an intelligent, cultivated man who
seemed to have broad and sane views on most things, but who was
evidently as mad as a hatter on this one subject.

And then, before Sir Lyon had perchance made up his mind what to answer
exactly, Varick's voice broke in: "Yes," he observed, smiling a little
grimly, "that's the logical conclusion of your view, Dilsford. You can't
get out of it! If a human being really possesses such dangerous powers,
the sooner that human being is put out of the way the better."

"No, no! I don't agree!" Sir Lyon spoke with more energy than he had yet
displayed. "Everything points to the fact that those unfortunate
people--I mean the witches and sorcerers of the Middle Ages--could have
been, and sometimes were, exorcised."

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