Halsey suggested that the grounds be searched, but Mr. Jamieson vetoed the suggestion.

“You would find nothing,” he said.  “A person clever enough to get into Sunnyside and tear a hole in the wall, while I watched down-stairs, is not to be found by going around the shrubbery with a lantern.”

With the death of Thomas, I felt that a climax had come in affairs at Sunnyside.  The night that followed was quiet enough.  Halsey watched at the foot of the staircase, and a complicated system of bolts on the other doors seemed to be effectual.

Once in the night I wakened and thought I heard the tapping again.  But all was quiet, and I had reached the stage where I refused to be disturbed for minor occurrences.

The Armstrongs were notified of Thomas’ death, and I had my first interview with Doctor Walker as a result.  He came up early the next morning, just as we finished breakfast, in a professional looking car with a black hood.  I found him striding up and down the living-room, and, in spite of my preconceived dislike, I had to admit that the man was presentable.  A big fellow he was, tall and dark, as Gertrude had said, smooth-shaven and erect, with prominent features and a square jaw.  He was painfully spruce in his appearance, and his manner was almost obtrusively polite.

“I must make a double excuse for this early visit, Miss Innes,” he said as he sat down.  The chair was lower than he expected, and his dignity required collecting before he went on.  “My professional duties are urgent and long neglected, and”—­a fall to the every-day manner—­“something must be done about that body.”

“Yes,” I said, sitting on the edge of my chair.  “I merely wished the address of Thomas’ people.  You might have telephoned, if you were busy.”

He smiled.

“I wished to see you about something else,” he said.  “As for Thomas, it is Mrs. Armstrong’s wish that would allow her to attend to the expense.  About his relatives, I have already notified his brother, in the village.  It was heart disease, I think.  Thomas always had a bad heart.”

“Heart disease and fright,” I said, still on the edge of my chair.  But the doctor had no intention of leaving.

“I understand you have a ghost up here, and that you have the house filled with detectives to exorcise it,” he said.

For some reason I felt I was being “pumped,” as Halsey says.  “You have been misinformed,” I replied.

“What, no ghost, no detectives!” he said, still with his smile.  “What a disappointment to the village!”

I resented his attempt at playfulness.  It had been anything but a joke to us.

“Doctor Walker,” I said tartly, “I fail to see any humor in the situation.  Since I came here, one man has been shot, and another one has died from shock.  There have been intruders in the house, and strange noises.  If that is funny, there is something wrong with my sense of humor.”