Tom Ossington's Ghost Part 19

The dreadful-looking woman, as she stood with her head thrown back, and her nose in the air, presented a picture of something which was meant for condescension, which was not without its pathos.

"Of course!--ain't that what I'm saying? She come here, and she took a key out of her pocket, and she put it in the keyhole, and she opened the door, all quite regular, and she says, 'This here's my house,' and she asked me to come in, so of course I come in."

"Do you mean to say that she gained entrance to this house by means of a key which she took from her pocket?"

"Course! How do you suppose we came in?--through the window? Not hardly, that's not my line, and so I tell you."

Graham returned to the woman.

"Be so good as to give me the key with which you obtained admission to these premises."

The woman put her hand up to her neck, for the first time showing signs of discomposure.

"The key?"

Starting back, she looked about her wildly, and broke into a series of shrill exclamations.

"The key!--my key!--no!--no!--no!--It is all I have left--the only thing I've got. I've kept it through everything--I've never parted from it once. I won't give it you--no!"

She came closer to him; glaring at him with terrible eyes.

"It's my key--mine! I took it with me when I went that night. He was sitting in here, and I came downstairs with the key in my pocket, and I went--and he never knew. And I've kept it ever since, because I've always said that one day when I went back I should want my key to let me in: I hate to have to stand on the step while they are letting me in."

Mr. Graham was regarding her intently, as if he was endeavouring to read what stood with her in the place of a soul.

"Is your name Ossington?"

"Ossington? Ossington?" She touched the sides of her forehead with the tips of her fingers, glancing about her affrightedly, as if making an effort to recall her surroundings. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Who said Ossington? Who said it? Who asked if my name was--Ossington?"

Mr. Graham addressed Miss Brodie.

"With your permission I should like to speak to this woman--after the man has gone."

In his last words there was meaning.

"By all means, if you wish it. Get rid of him at once. At the best the fellow is an impudent intruder, and the story he tells is a ridiculously lame one. He must have been perfectly well aware that a woman of this sort was not likely to possess a house of her own, and that accepting what he calls her invitation he was committing felony."

The fellow in question shook his head as if he felt himself ill-used.

"I call that hard--cruel hard. If the young lady was to think of it for half a moment she'd see as it was cruel hard."

"The young lady declines to think of it. Have the goodness to take yourself away, and consider yourself lucky that you are allowed to escape scot free."

The man moved towards the door, endeavouring to bear himself as if he were doing so of his own free will. He spoke to the woman.

"Ain't you coming with me?"

"Yes, I'm coming."

She hastened towards him. Graham interposed.

"Let him go. There are one or two things about which we should like to speak to you, this young lady and I, after he has gone."

But she would have none of him. Shrinking back, she stared at him, in silence, for a second or two; then began to shriek at him like some wild creature.

"I won't stay!--I won't!--I shall go!--I shall! You tried to get my key--my key! You touch it--you dare! You asked me if my name"--she stopped, stared about as if in terror, gave a great sigh, "You asked me if my name----"

She stopped again--and sighed again, the pupils of her eyes dilating as she watched and listened for what was invisible and inaudible to all but her. Graham moved forward, intending to soothe her. Mistaking, apparently, his intention, she rushed at him with outstretched arms, giving utterance to yell after yell. In a moment she was past him and flying from the house.

Her male companion, who stood still in the doorway, pointed his thumb over his shoulder with a grin.

"There you are, you see--drove her out of her seven senses! So you have."

Much more leisurely, the man went after the woman.

For some reason, when Mr. Bruce Graham and Miss Brodie were left alone, nothing was said about the recent visitors.

"If you'll sit down and wait," remarked Miss Brodie, "I'll go and take my things off."

Having returned from performing those sacred offices, the topic still remained untouched. Possibly that was because there were so many things which needed doing. When one has been out all day, and keeps no maid, when one returns there are things which must be done. For instance, there was a fire to make. Miss Brodie observed that there ought to have been two, one in the kitchen, and one in the sitting-room; but declared that folks would have to be content with one.

And that one Bruce Graham made.

She brought in the wood, and the coal, and the paper; and then she went to fetch the matches. When she returned she caught him in the act.

"What are you doing?" she demanded.

He was on his knees on the hearthrug, with some sticks in his hand.

"Making a fire--on scientific principles. I'm a scientific expert at this kind of thing. Women's methods are unscientific as a rule."

"Indeed." Her air was scornful. "Men always think they can make fires.

It's most surprising."

She commented on his methods--particularly when he took the pieces of coal from the scuttle, and placed them in their places with his fingers.

"That's right! Men always use their fingers to put coal on the fire--if they can. It's an agreeable habit."

He continued calm.

"It's scientific, strictly scientific; and may be logically defended, especially when a fire is being lighted. Heaping on coal with a shovel is unscientific--in the highest degree."

He struck a match; presently the paper was in flames.

"Now you had better go and wash your hands. You'll have to do it in the scullery; and by the time you're done, the fire will be out."

But the fire was not out. It was a complete success. The kettle was put on, preparations were made for tea, and the table was laid, Graham showing a talent for rendering a.s.sistance which was not accorded the thanks it might have been. Madge was chilly.

"I should imagine you were rather a handy person to have about the house."