“Thought as much!” said Claud, with a satisfied air. “I get it myself. In fact, it runs in the family. There’s only one thing for it, and that’s mercury. You take my advice, young Richmond, and the next time you see things slipping away when you look at them ask my Aunt Elvira for a Blue Pill! Surprised she doesn’t give ’em to you, because it’s as plain as a pikestaff you’re as liverish as Vincent!”

Vincent, entering the room in time to hear his comparison, interrupted Richmond’s indignant refutal, saying, as he shut the door: “Am I liverish? I wonder if you could be right? I thought it was boredom. What have you been doing to earn this stigma, bantam?”

The matter was explained to him by Richmond and Anthea in chorus. Hugo had returned to the Morning Post, and Claud had lost interest, his mind being occupied suddenly by a more important matter. As Vincent strolled forward, Claud’s gaze was dragged irresistibly to his gleaming Hessians, and he fell into a brown study, wondering if their magical gloss could have been produced by a mixture of brandy and beeswax, and if it had ever occurred to Polyphant to experiment with this entirely original recipe. He tore his eyes away from the Hessians, and found that Vincent was looking mockingly down at him.

“Even I do not know, brother,” Vincent said gently. “I hope you haven’t wasted any blunt on champagne? It isn’t that.”

Claud was pardonably annoyed. “If you want to know what I was thinking—”

“I do know,” interpolated Vincent. “I beg your pardon, Anthea! You were saying?”

“I was saying—no, Claud, don’t answer him! it’s precisely what he wants you to do!—I was saying that whatever Richmond may, or may not, have seen, I think the Dower House is haunted,” stated Anthea. “I had the horridest feeling, all the time I was there!”

Hugo, who was seated sideways on the window seat, with the Morning Post spread before him, raised his head, and said, with a grin: “No wonder, if you let that old humbug bamboozle you into believing him!”

“You’re not going to tell me that Spurstow said the place was haunted?” demanded Richmond. “Because I’ll swear he never did so! He doesn’t give a rush for any ghost! I happen to know, too, that when they ask him questions about it, down at the Blue Lion, he turns surly, and won’t answer. Why should he take it into his head to start talking about it to you?”

“Hugo thought he was trying to frighten him. And I must say, Hugo, it does seem as though you might be right!”

“Fiddle!” said Richmond. “Why should he want to frighten Hugo?”

“Happen he thought I’d too much interest in the place,” suggested Hugo, turning a sheet of his journal.

“Hugo said that he would like to strip all the ivy off, and clear away those thick shrubs,” explained Anthea.

“I wonder? You know, it’s perfectly true that he tries to keep everyone away. It hadn’t previously occurred to me that he might be hiding something, because Aunt Matty never would see visitors either, but when Hugo put it into my head—Richmond, could he be using the Dower House as a hiding-place for run cargoes?”

“He could be,” Richmond replied, “but I don’t advise you to accuse him of it. He’ll take it very unkind, and start prosing about having been thirty years in service and never a stain on his reputation. Ash told me he went right up in the bows when that clunch, Ottershaw, set a watch on the Dower House.”

“Good God, did he do so?” exclaimed Anthea. “I never knew that! When was it?”

“Oh,, soon after Ottershaw was sent here! Just after Christmas, wasn’t it?”

“Dear me, what stirring events seem to take place when I am not here to be beguiled by them!” remarked Vincent. “What made Ottershaw suspect Spurstow?”

“His face, I should think,” said Claud. “Anyone would!”

“The Preventives always suspect haunted houses,” said Richmond, ignoring the interruption. “Ottershaw’s a bigger sapskull than the man we had before! He came up to see my grandfather about it!” He grinned at Vincent, his eyes alight with mischief. “You ask Chollacombe how Grandpapa liked it!”

“I am sure he disliked it very much,” said Vincent, flicking open his snuff-box. “I have every sympathy with him. A gross impertinence: Spurstow has been in Grandpapa’s service all his life.”

“But was that all the reason Ottershaw had?” demanded Anthea. “Merely that the Dower House is haunted?”

Richmond shrugged. “No use asking me: I’m not in the fellow’s confidence. All I know is that he had the place watched. Spurstow discovered it, of course, and nabbed the rust. He went off to Rye, ran Ottershaw to earth in the Ship, and asked him what the devil he meant by it. I wasn’t there myself, but I’m told there was a rare kick-up. Ottershaw lost his temper, because Spurstow challenged him to go back with him and search the Dower house, and of course, he dared not do it without a warrant, unless he had Grandpapa’s permission, which he most certainly had not!”

“And did Spurstow’s display of righteous indignation allay suspicion?” enquired Vincent, restoring his snuffbox to his pocket, and dusting his sleeve with his handkerchief.

“Well, it wouldn’t allay my suspicion!” said Claud. “If any such gallows-faced cove came and talked to me about his spotless reputation, I’d give him in charge! Too smoky by half! Depend upon it, he’s got run goods hidden all over the house!”

“If that’s so, how did he get them there?” retorted Richmond. “Each time the Preventives have got wind of a big run, Ottershaw has posted dragoons in the lane, and they’ve never seen or heard a thing! There’s no other way of getting to the house, except by the gate that leads out of the shrubbery into our grounds, and that couldn’t possibly be used. For one thing, it squeaks loud enough to be heard half-a-mile away, and, for another, a man posted outside the main-gate, in the lane, couldn’t help but see if anyone came out of the shrubbery.”

“True,” agreed Vincent. “Assuming, of course, that he was a stout-hearted fellow, and maintained his post—which I doubt. From what I know of the inhabitants of this unregenerate locality, I should suppose that they could be counted on to fortify the dragoon for his vigil with some pretty choice ghost-stories.”

“Yes, of course they do,” grinned Richmond. “Ash—he’s the buffer at the Blue Lion, you know—says the men hate that duty like the devil. According to him, they’ve seen more ghosts at the Dower House than we ever dreamed of! I don’t suppose they do stay too close to the gate, but it makes no odds as long as they keep the lane covered: any pack-train would have to come that way. The best of it is that while Ottershaw concentrated his forces there, the night of a big run, the train was miles to the west, and got through without catching so much as a whiff of a Preventive!”

Vincent looked rather amused. “You are remarkably well-informed! Where do you come by all this information, little cousin?”

Richmond laughed. “My boatman, of course! Lord, you don’t imagine anything happens along the coast that Jem Hordle doesn’t know about, do you?”

“I had forgotten your boatman. Is he one of the fraternity?”

“I haven’t asked him. You should know better than to think one puts that sort of a question to one’s boatman!”

“To be sure I do! How could I be so stupid?”

“I’ll tell you something, young Richmond!” said Claud suddenly. “You’re a dashed sight too caper-witted! If you don’t take care you’ll be made to look no-how. Ought to be sure of your boatman! What’s more, you oughtn’t to beach that yawl of yours where anyone could launch her, and not a soul the wiser. A rare mess you’d find yourself in if she was caught bringing in run goods, and it’s all the world to a handsaw that that’s just what will happen one of these nights!”

“I fail to see why Richmond should find himself in a rare mess because his boat was stolen and put to improper purposes, even though I’m spell-bound by your eloquence,” said Vincent. “Have you undertaken to bear-lead him as well as Hugo, by the way?”

“You needn’t be anxious, Claud!” Richmond interposed, a confident little smile playing about his mouth. “Jem would no more take my boat out without my leave than he’d rob me of my watch, and he wouldn’t let anyone else do so either.”

Claud, an expression of deep scepticism on his face, looked as though he had more to say, but as his father came into the room at that moment, the subject was allowed to drop.

Matthew, on the eve of his departure from Darracott Place, made another attempt to persuade Vincent to follow his example. He failed, for the very simple reason that Vincent’s financial embarrassments made it desirable not only that he should oblige his grandfather, but that he should be put to no living-expenditure until quarter-day came to relieve his situation. But as Vincent was well aware that Matthew strongly resented Lord Darracott’s capricious custom of bestowing on his grandsons handsome sums which he grudged to his own son, he did not present Matthew with this explanation to remain where he was plainly bored to death. In fact, he presented him with no explanation at all, a circumstance which sent Matthew back to London in a mood of anxious foreboding only partially allayed by his dependence on his lady’s ability to control what he felt to be an increasingly dangerous situation. “My dear sir,” Vincent said, “it would be so unkind—really quite barbarous!—to leave my grandfather without support in this hour of trial. I could not think of it! But do, I beg of you, remove Claud!”

But Matthew very properly ignored this request, and Claud too remained at Darracott Place. He received no encouragement from his host, nor could anyone feel that a rural existence held the slightest charm for him. Still less was it felt that he entertained any very real hope of reforming his large cousin, for his first enthusiasm had not survived the several checks he had received, and although he frequently censured Hugo’s dialectical lapses, and occasionally made an attempt to coax him into a more fashionable mode, it was certainly not to educate him that he remained in Kent. The truth was that his grandfather’s summons had made it necessary for him to refuse an invitation to make one of a very agreeable house party in quite another part of the country, so that he found himself in the position of having nowhere to go for several weeks, a return to his lodgings in Duke Street at this season being clearly ineligible. He would not have chosen to stay for any length of time at Darracott Place, but he was not bored, as was his more energetic and very much more dashing brother. Notwithstanding his sartorial ambition, Claud’s tastes were simple, and since the self-imposed strain of cutting a notable figure in the world of fashion was extremely exhausting he was really quite glad to spend a few weeks in the country, on what he referred to as a repairing lease. He was able to try the effect of various daring new quirks of fashion without having his pleasure marred by the dread of being thought by the high sticklers to have gone a little too far, for although he met with much adverse criticism in the bosom of his family, this was so ill-informed as to have no power to discompose him. His grandfather’s notions were Gothic; his father had never aspired to a place amongst the smarts; Richmond was a callow youth, knowing nothing whatsoever about matters of taste and ton; and Vincent’s contempt sprang so obviously from jealousy that he was able to ignore it. Criticism from Hugo would naturally have been beneath contempt, but Hugo never criticized his appearance: he regarded each new extravagance with awe and admiration, only once being betrayed into the expression of something in the nature of a protest. “Eh, lad, you’re never going to Rye in that rig?” he exclaimed involuntarily, when Claud came down the stairs wonderfully attired for this projected expedition.