experience everything. He will be glad to discuss all in the
morning. You may retire, sir. I can state unequivocally that
your sleep will be undisturbed the rest of the evening.”
Needless to say, I slept very little the remainder of
that night, and what small amount of rest I did get was in
an armchair that I covered with blankets.
Lord Kettering awaited me as I came down for
breakfast. He smiled wryly. “How was your night?”
“Damn lousy trick to play,” I grumbled. “Do those
firebrands come to your bidding?”
“Hardly,” he muttered sadly. “Surely you have no
doubt that they were spirits?”
“I concede that. Good God, the Hall is truly
haunted.” The enormity of this truth finally crashed in
upon me.
“Perhaps,” conceded Kettering. “But the Hall is
not haunted by them. I am haunted by them.”
I saw that Jeffries had placed a glass of brandy at
my elbow. It was most welcome. “I don’t understand,” I
said.
“I would have told you the story last evening, but
you never would have believed me. Now you must, but I
do not envy you the task of setting it down without your
readers scoffing. Do as you will—I no longer care if I am
thought insane.” Then Kettering began in earnest.
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