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said. “It was a creature of some sort.”
    Willox spoke for the first time.
    â€œA rat?” he said. “We’ve had them, sir. They find ways into old houses like this. I’ll lay down some poison.”
    â€œNo, it wasn’t a rat. To be honest, I’m not sure what it was. It fled down the plug hole as the water level dropped. It was more of a crustacean, I think.”
    â€œA crustacean?”
    â€œLike a crab, or a lobster.”
    Mrs. Gissing looked at me as though I were mad, as well she might have done. Willox appeared uncertain, and could well have been considering whether people in London might enjoy a sense of humor different from, and stranger than, his own.
    â€œWho would put a lobster in your bath?” said Mrs. Gissing. “Certainly not I.”
    She seemed ready to take umbrage once again, so I assured her that I was not accusing her of being in the habit of putting lobsters in the bathtubs of strange men.
    â€œAnd then,” I continued, “I was woken by what appeared to be a presence in the house.”
    â€œA . . . presence?” said Willox.
    â€œYes. I can’t describe it any better than that.”
    â€œAre you talking about a ghost, sir?”
    â€œI don’t believe in ghosts,” I said. “Did Mr. Maulding believe in ghosts?”
    â€œI can’t recall him ever mentioning the subject to me.” He turned to Mrs. Gissing, who shrugged and shook her head.
    â€œI ask because he seems to have recently begun building a library of the occult, which suggests that something might have excited his interest in such matters. He never mentioned disturbances in the house to you?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œDid he appear distressed in recent weeks, or seem tired and anxious to you?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œDo you think I’m mad, Mrs. Gissing?”
    For the first time, she smiled. “I couldn’t possibly say, sir. But this is a big, old house, and big, old houses are filled with creaks and groans that can seem strange to those who aren’t used to them. I’ll go and make you that breakfast, sir, and you’ll feel better for it.”
    â€œWhat about you, Mr. Willox?” I said. “Do you doubt my sanity?”
    â€œI don’t know you well enough to be certain, sir, but you look sane enough to me. But, like Mrs. Gissing says, it takes time to get used to a strange house, especially one as old as this. Even I sometimes find myself looking over my shoulder when I’m alone in it. It’s the way of such places, isn’t it? They wear their history heavily.”
    I asked him about Mr. Maulding, but he could add nothing to what Mrs. Gissing had told me. He did ask about his wages, and I told him that I’d arrange for Mr. Quayle to make the payments. He seemed satisfied with that, although he might not have been had he known Quayle personally. Quayle rarely paid quickly, and Maulding’s financial obligations to his domestic staff would have been very low on Quayle’s list of priorities. The fact that he had paid me in advance was a sign of just how anxious he was to ensure Maulding’s safe return.
    Willox departed to work on the grounds. I heard the sound of bangs and crashes from the kitchen, and the smell of frying bacon began to waft, not unpleasantly, into the library. Surrounded bythese noises and scents, these indicators of normality, I became less and less certain of what I had witnessed the previous night. It was not unnatural. The undisturbed mind will tend to seek the most rational explanation for an occurrence: to do otherwise is to sow the seeds of madness. I had a troubled mind, fractured by experience, but I was not yet ready to surrender entirely to disquiet.
    It was about this time that there came a knock on the door. Mrs. Gissing being otherwise occupied, I answered it myself and found the boy from the post office waiting with a telegram for me. I gave him a