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Trumble,” said Charles gravely. “All children usually have such fancies, and they should not be encouraged in indulging them.”
    “I am not in the way of indulging children’s fancies,” said Miss Trumble so sharply and with such an air of hauteur that Charles immediately felt like a naughty child himself.
    “Forgive me. Explain.”
    “Mark has given me a graphic description of Mr. Judd, one of the previous owners who hanged himself. He claims to have seen him. Had I really believed he had seen a ghost, or rather, had I thought that the boy thought he had really seen a ghost, I would have done all in my power to reassure him and to talk him out of his fancies. The thing that troubles me is that I have an uneasy feeling that Mark may have seen a real person.”
    He looked at her in amazement and then said, “But why? Why would anyone try to frighten a child? We have no enemies.”
    “I really do not know. I may be wrong. But to make sure, our odd man, Barry Wort, has offered to guard the boy’s room. He is a strong and honest man. He is not of the Mannerling staff. With your permission, I will smuggle him up the back stairs this evening. I told him to call.”
    “Very well.” He looked at her doubtfully. “And how long is this experiment to go on?”
    “A few nights, that is all.”
    “I will have a truckle-bed set up in Mark’s room.”
    “Not by your servants,” said Miss Trumble quickly.
    “You suspect my servants? They would not dare.”
    “Humour me, Mr. Blackwood.”
    “Oh, very well. I will attend to the matter myself.” He rang the bell. John, the footman, answered the summons. “Fetch my son here,” ordered Charles.
    After a few minutes, Mark appeared.
    Charles studied the boy’s expressive and sensitive face, feeling a pang that he had never really tried to get to know his own son.
    “Sit down, Mark,” he said gently.
    “A moment.” Miss Trumble moved quickly to the door and jerked it open. John was standing outside.
    “Go about your business,” said Miss Trumble.
    “I was simply waiting at hand to see whether the master wished any refreshments,” said John huffily.
    “The master does not. Go away.”
    She waited until John had gone off down the stairs, his liveried back stiff with outrage.
    She closed the heavy door and then sat down.
    “Mark,” began Charles, “what is all this about a ghost?”
    The boy threw a reproachful look at Miss Trumble.
    “I am not usually in the way of betraying confidences,” said the governess. “But I think this ghost of yours is something to be taken seriously. Your father will not laugh at you.”
    “Tell me about it,” said Charles.
    “It happens sometimes during the night,” saidMark in a rush. “He stands at the end of my bed and he is a foxy man with sandy hair and green eyes.”
    “If it was night-time and dark, how were you able to see him so clearly?” asked Charles.
    “The first time it was just a black figure,” said Mark. “So I left a candle burning after that. Miss Terry found out and whipped me for burning the candle, but I was more afraid of the ghost than I was of her.”
    “See here, Mark,” said his father, “we are going to play a game. Do you know…er…what is the name of the Brookfield servant?”
    “Barry Wort.”
    “Oh, I know him. He is capital. He taught me how to make a sling.”
    “Now this is to be our secret, Mark,” said Charles. “This Barry Wort is going to sleep in your room for a few nights. You are not to tell anyone about this arrangement, not the servants, not anyone.”
    The boy’s eyes shone. “No ghost would dare to appear if Barry were there.”
    “We shall see. I shall call on you before you go to sleep. Is there still a truckle-bed in the powder-closet in your room?”
    Mark nodded.
    “So take some sheets and blankets from the linenpress when the servants are not around and make a bed for Barry.”
    “In the powder-closet?”
    “No, that would not serve. In the corner of your