Footsteps in the Dark Read Online Free

House, who neither drank nor collected moths, but who was a bachelor, which was a pity. Mrs. Pennythorne went on to enumerate the failings of various farmers and villagers, and Charles, who, his wife was wont to say, was never backward in devising methods of escape for himself, suggested to the Vicar that he might like to stroll out to look at the ruins of the chapel.
    The Vicar was nothing loth, and ignoring a look of mingled threat and appeal from his wife, Charles led him out.
    The Vicar discoursed on Norman and Early English architecture in the chapel, and strove to decipher long obliterated inscriptions upon the few tombs that thrust up through the grass and weeds that had grown over the floor of the building.
    They returned presently to the house to find that another caller had arrived. This was Colonel Ackerley, and he proved to be a more congenial guest than either of the Pennythornes, who soon took their leave.
    The Colonel was a man of some forty-five years, or more, with a manner rather typical of the army, but otherwise inoffensive. He shook hands with great heartiness, and said that had he known of the presence of Mrs. Pennythorne in the house he should have turned tail and run.
    "The girls promptly warmed to him. "You must stay ;iud have tea with us," Celia said. "And does the doctor really drink, or is it drugs?"
    "Ah, poor old Roote!" said the Colonel charitably. "Mustn't be unchristian, I suppose. Leave that to the Vicar's wife, what?" His ready laugh broke from him. "Still, I must admit poor Roote is rather too fond of the bottle. A good doctor, mind you, and whatever they say I'll not believe he was ever the worse for wear except in his off hours. Wife's a bit of a tartar, I believe."
    "What about the eccentric Mr. Titmarsh?" inquired Celia.
    "Not an ounce of harm in him, my dear young lady," the Colonel assured her. "Queer old bird: not much in my line, I'm afraid. Very clever, and all that sort of thing, so they say. Don't be surprised if you run up against him in the dark one night. Gave me the shock of my life when I first found him in my garden. Thought he was a burglar." He burst out laughing again. "Told me he was putting lime on a tree, or some such flum-diddle. He's a - what d'ye call it? - entomologist."
    Peter handed him his cup and saucer. "Well, I'm glad you warned us, Colonel. Otherwise we might have mistaken him for our ghost."
    "You don't mean to tell me you believe in that story?" demanded Colonel Ackerley.
    "Of course we don't!" said Celia. "But our butler does, and so does the housemaid. Bowers swears he's heard ghostly hands feeling over his door at night."
    The Colonel set down his cup. "Has he, by Gad?" he said. "But you haven't heard anything yourselves, have you?"
    Celia hesitated. It was Margaret who answered. "Yes, I think we all have, but we put it down to rats."
    The Colonel looked from one to the other. "Footsteps, do you mean?"
    "That and other odd sounds. It's nothing."
    The Colonel drank the rest of his tea in two gulps. "Well, it's not often one comes across two such sensible ladies," he said. "I don't mind admitting to you that if I were in a house and heard what you call odd sounds I don't believe I could stand it. Bullets I can put up with at a pinch, but I draw the line at spooks. Yes, I draw the line at spooks, and I'm not ashamed to say so."
    "I quite agree with you," Mrs. Bosanquet said, bestowing her placid smile upon him. "I can't approve of this modern craze for the supernatural. I once spent a whole hour with a Ouija board, and the only thing it wrote was M about a hundred times, and then something that looked like Mother's Marmalade, which seemed to me absurd."
    "You ought to try again here, Aunt," said Margaret. "Then, if there's anything in it, perhaps our ghost will tell you the story of his life."
    "Who knows?" said Peter flippantly, "he might even lead you to some hidden treasure."
    Mrs. Bosanquet merely shook her head, but the idea seemed to take root in