“Oh, and you know Mrs. Gatty’s funny trick of making out that everybody is like some animal or other?” said William. “Well, she makes out old Gatty is a wolf. Funny, because he’s a fearfully weak blighter. Why, his first words when we got him out were to hope his absence hadn’t caused any inconvenience, or something. He was thinking all about Mrs. Gatty, not himself. If Mrs. Gatty is really as dotty as they say, why isn’t she in an asylum? Oh, and talking of asylums, did you read in the paper about those two inmates scrapping? One’s done the other in, and a keeper got frightfully chewed up. Blood and brains and things all over the place!” That sort of thing is William’s idea of social small-talk, of course.
Cora shivered and said:
“I think we’ll draw the curtains and light up, ducky. It isn’t very dark yet, but it’s somehow creepy in this half-light. I like this bungalow and the peace and quiet and all that, but it is lonely, isn’t it? All the moor and the quarries, and only that one little cart track leading up to it from the village! I get real scared sometimes. I’m glad I don’t have to stop here in the winter. I believe I’d go off my head with the nerves!”
“But not with Mr. Burt here?” said William.
“David couldn’t do much against a ghost, could he, ducky? That’s what I think. Did you know one of those horrible murders was done at the bottom of our back garden? Well, it was. You know, when that loony got loose from the Moat House! Of course, it was years ago now, and the bungalow wasn’t built then nor anything, but somebody’s marked the spot with one of them—those—great boulders and I often sit here of an evening while David does his work, and make meself a set of undies or something, and wonder whether that poor old corpse ever walks. My word! I wouldn’t be Mrs. Gatty and live in that Moat House for anything you could offer me. I wouldn’t! No wonder she’s gone funny! Gawd—!”
She broke off with a gulp of deadly terror.
“Listen, ducky!” she whispered. “Whatever can it be?”
Something was stealthily moving across the roof above their heads. There was a scraping noise, and then something heavy slipped and scrabbled on the slates. Cora clutched William’s bare knee.
William is a plucky boy. He picked up the poker, pushed her hand from his knee, stood up and advanced to the door.
“Oh, ducky, don’t!” cried Cora. She ran to him, and clung to his arm. “Ducky, don’t leave me! Don’t open the door!” She moaned in terror, as the sounds began again. They were sounds clearly indicative of the fact that somebody was climbing the bungalow roof and slipping as he climbed.
“Let go,” said William, who was probably very pale. “It’s only somebody fooling about. One of the village kids, I daresay. I’ll scare him.”
“You’re not to go!” said Cora. “You’re not to leave me!”
She clung to him frantically. William could feel her heart beating heavily against his shoulder, for she was a tall woman. They listened intently, but could hear nothing more. Gradually the tension relaxed. William released himself, and they stood listening, but with recovered nerves.
“I expect,” said William at last, in a whisper, “it was a biggish tomcat. They’re fearfully heavy, some tom-cats. As heavy as dogs. And the kind of noise reminded me rather of a cat, too.”
“Did it, ducky?” whispered Cora, trying her hardest to believe him. “How I wish David and the blackie would come back, though, all the same.”
“So do I, rather,” said William, glancing at the clock. “I really ought to be going home.”
“Oh, but you can’t!” said Cora, wildly. She clung to his arm with both her big, plump hands. “I’d die of fright, if you was to leave me now! I’ll tell you what! Let’s telephone your uncle. You’re on the ’phone, I suppose, aren’t you?”
“We’re on the ’phone, yes,” said William, giving her the number.
She picked up the receiver and had just concluded that rather breathless message, received, as a matter of fact, by me, when the peculiar scrabbling noises began again. This time, even the pugnacious William did not want to go and investigate. Cora was white with terror. After about two minutes, the noises ceased again.
“Whatever it is, it’s still up there,” said William. “What ought we to do?”
“Stay here,” said Cora, her teeth chattering.
“You don’t think,” said William, “that the others are in danger?”
Cora groaned aloud.
“Ducky, they might be. He might get them as they come in. Oh, my Lawks, whatever shall I do! I’m so terrified of that there Gatty, revengeful little toad!”
She picked up the poker.
“I’ll have that,” said William. “You won’t hit hard enough. You have the shovel, and whack them round the chops with it. I can’t be hanged if I kill anybody, that’s another thing. You can.”
They advanced to the hall door. The light was burning in the hall. Bending double, William tiptoed to the front door. Cora followed. At this moment they heard the quavering voice of Foster Washington Yorke singing a negro spiritual to guard and cheer him and his master on their lonely road home.
“Keep clear of the door, Cora,” said William, in whom the fear born of inaction had given place to the thrill of battle. “I’ll open it and let them in quick.”
He waited until he judged the negro and Burt were almost at the door, then he flung the door open and shouted, “Quick! Quick!”
Washington was badly startled, but he responded immediately, and he and his load of books came hurtling into the house like rain, while William slammed the door.
“Fo’ de Lawd’s sake, Mis’ Cora!” gasped the negro, rolling his eyes rapidly. “What’s de mattah?”
“There’s something on the roof,” said William. “There it is again!” They clutched one another wildly. At the same instant a loud knock at the door heralded Burt. They besought him to enter quickly, and William told him the news. Cora, William supposed, was too scared to explain anything.
“Something on the roof?” said Burt. “Oh, rot!”
Nevertheless, somewhat shaken by their obvious fears, he walked to his desk, took out a revolver and walked to the door. He had a powerful electric torch in his left hand. Cora shrieked and rushing forward, clung to his arm. Burt shook her off.
“Stay where you are,” he said. William and the negro had to hold Cora back, while Burt went outside the house. He returned in a moment or two.
“Nothing there,” he said curtly.
“Well, there was, ” said Cora, weakly, sitting down.
“Yes,” said Burt, slowly and thoughtfully, and William noticed that he did not replace the gun in his desk, but left it lying on the blotting pad, “there has been something up there. You’d better have a couple of aspirins, Cora. There’s nothing to worry about now.” He looked at her and smiled grimly. (William’s words, not mine.)
“I’d better go home,” said William.
“Not alone,” said Cora. “You’ll have to take him, Dave.”
“And leave you?” said William.
“Nothing doing,” said Burt. “I couldn’t do that. The kid will have to stay here. Nothing else for it.”
He smiled nastily again, William said. He supposed Burt was angry with Cora for getting scared.
“His uncle might come,” said Cora. “I telephoned.”
It was just about then that I rolled up, of course. They admitted me.
“What’s the trouble?” I said, gazing at Burt’s revolver.
“Come and have a drink,” said Burt, “and I’ll tell you. All right, Cora, I’m not going outside the house.”