Something was in the wind, and the “something” would doubtless bear fruit; for this elderly spinster aunt, with a mania for psychical research, had brains as well as will power, and by hook or by crook she usually managed to accomplish her ends.  The revelation was made soon after tea, when she sidled close up to him as they paced slowly along the sea-front in the dusk.

“I’ve got the keys,” she announced in a delighted, yet half awesome voice.  “Got them till Monday!”

“The keys of the bathing-machine, or—?” he asked innocently, looking from the sea to the town.  Nothing brought her so quickly to the point as feigning stupidity.

“Neither,” she whispered.  “I’ve got the keys of the haunted house in the square—­and I’m going there to-night.”

Shorthouse was conscious of the slightest possible tremor down his back.  He dropped his teasing tone.  Something in her voice and manner thrilled him.  She was in earnest.

“But you can’t go alone—­” he began.

“That’s why I wired for you,” she said with decision.

He turned to look at her.  The ugly, lined, enigmatical face was alive with excitement.  There was the glow of genuine enthusiasm round it like a halo.  The eyes shone.  He caught another wave of her excitement, and a second tremor, more marked than the first, accompanied it.

“Thanks, Aunt Julia,” he said politely; “thanks awfully.”

“I should not dare to go quite alone,” she went on, raising her voice; “but with you I should enjoy it immensely.  You’re afraid of nothing, I know.”

“Thanks so much,” he said again.  “Er—­is anything likely to happen?”

“A great deal has happened,” she whispered, “though it’s been most cleverly hushed up.  Three tenants have come and gone in the last few months, and the house is said to be empty for good now.”

In spite of himself Shorthouse became interested.  His aunt was so very much in earnest.

“The house is very old indeed,” she went on, “and the story—­an unpleasant one—­dates a long way back.  It has to do with a murder committed by a jealous stableman who had some affair with a servant in the house.  One night he managed to secrete himself in the cellar, and when everyone was asleep, he crept upstairs to the servants’ quarters, chased the girl down to the next landing, and before anyone could come to the rescue threw her bodily over the banisters into the hall below.”

“And the stableman—?”

“Was caught, I believe, and hanged for murder; but it all happened a century ago, and I’ve not been able to get more details of the story.”

Shorthouse now felt his interest thoroughly aroused; but, though he was not particularly nervous for himself, he hesitated a little on his aunt’s account.

“On one condition,” he said at length.

“Nothing will prevent my going,” she said firmly; “but I may as well hear your condition.”