Tom Ossington's Ghost

"'I did come!' he replied.

"'Yes-but you stopped outside. Why didn't you come inside?'

"'Because the house was empty!'

"'That's all you know.'

"'Yes,' repeated Ballingall, 'that's all I do know.'

"'There's my fortune in that house!'

"'Your fortune?'

"'Yes my fortune; all of it. I brought it home, and hid it away-after Lily went.'

"Lily was his wife's name. He spoke of her with a sort of gasp. Ballingall felt as if he had been struck.

"'What's your fortune to do with me?'

"'Everything maybe-because it is yours, if you'll come and get it; every farthing. It's anyone's who finds it, anyone's-I don't care who it is. What does it matter to me who has it-now? Why shouldn't it be yours? There's heaps and heaps of money, heaps! More than you suppose. It'll make a rich man of you-set you up for life, buy you houses, carriages and all. You have only got to come and get it, and it is yours. Think of what a difference it'll make to you-of all that it will do for you-of all that it will mean. It will pick you out of the gutter, and place you in a mansion, with as many servants as you like to pay for at your beck and call. And all yours for the fetching-or anyone's for the matter of that. But why shouldn't you make it yours? Don't be a fool, but come, man, come!'

"He continued urging and entreating Ballingall to come and take for his own the treasures which he declared were hidden away in Clover Cottage, until, turning round, without a farewell word, he walked down the street and disappeared into the Strand.

"Ballingall assured me that he didn't know what to make of it; and if he was speaking the truth, I quite understand his difficulty. He was aware that, neither physically nor mentally, was he in the best of health, and he knew also that Ossington was continually in his mind. He might be the victim of hallucination; but if so, it was hallucination of an extraordinary sort. He himself had not touched Ossington, but Ossington had touched him. His touch had been solid enough, he looked solid enough, but how came he to be in Southampton Street if he was lying in Wandsworth Churchyard? On the other hand, the story of the hidden fortune was quite in accordance with what he knew of the man's character. He always had a trick of concealing money, valuables, all sorts of things, in unusual places. And for him to have secreted the bulk of his capital, or even the whole of it, or what represented the whole of it, and then to have left the hiding-place unrevealed, for some one to discover after he was dead and gone, was just the sort of thing he might have been expected to do.

"Anyhow, Ballingall did not go to Clover Cottage the following day. He found a job when the market opened, and that probably had a good deal to do with his staying away. The next night Ossington returned-if I remember rightly, just as Ballingall was about to enter a common lodging-house. And he came back not that night only, but over and over again, so far as I could understand, for weeks together, and always with the same urgent request, that he would come and fetch the fortune which lay hidden in Clover Cottage.

"At last torn by conflicting doubts, driven more than half insane-as he himself admitted-by the feeling that his life was haunted, he did as his mysterious visitor desired-he went to Clover Cottage. He hung about the house for an hour. At last, persuaded that it was empty, he gained admission through the kitchen window. No sooner was he in than a constable who, unconsciously to himself, had been observing his movements with suspicious eyes, came and found him on the premises. The feeling that, after all, he had allowed himself to be caught in something that looked very like a trap, bereft Ballingall of his few remaining senses, and he resisted the officer with a degree of violence which he would not have shown had he retained his presence of mind.

"The result was that instead of leaving Clover Cottage the possessor of a fortune, he left it to be hauled ignominiously to the stationhouse."

CHAPTER VIII

MADGE… AND THE PANEL

"And is that all the story?" asked Ella, for Mr. Graham had paused.

"All of it as it relates to Ballingall. So far as he was concerned, it brought his history up to date."

"And what became of him?"

"He was tried at the Surrey Sessions. There was practically no defence-for, of course, I could not urge on his behalf the wild story he had told me. All I could do was to plead extenuating circumstances. He was found guilty, and got twelve months."

"And then?"

"Then I came in-that was my first brief, and my last. Although I could not see my way to shape his story into the form of any legal plea, still less could I erase it from my mind. Never had I heard such a tale before, and never had I listened to a man who had so impressed me by his complete sincerity as Ballingall had done when telling it. He had struck me as being as sane as I myself was; had used commonplace words; had not gone out of his way to heighten their colour; but had simply told the thing straight on, exactly as it occurred. I felt convinced that, from his own point of view, the affair was genuine.

"Months went by, and still the story stuck in my brain. I found myself putting propositions of this kind. There was a house called Clover Cottage, and there had lived in it a man named Ossington, an avowed eccentric-for I had made inquiries in the neighbourhood, and had learned that he had been regarded thereabouts as more or less insane. Suppose, in this empty house of his, he had hidden something which was more or less valuable, for which there existed no actual owner, nor any designated heir. What then?"

The speaker paused again. Then spoke more softly. On his countenance the shadows seemed to deepen.

"You must understand that I am a poor man. All the world that knows me is conscious of my poverty, but none but myself is aware how poor I really am. I have felt, and feel, that if I can only hold on, I shall win my way in my profession yet. But it is the holding on which is so difficult. Some time ago I came to the end of my resources, and during the last year I have been living from hand to mouth. Had I had my time more fully occupied I should have been able to banish from my mind the man's queer story; or had I seen my way to earn money sufficient to supply my daily needs, anyhow, without forfeiting my right to call myself a professional man, and so barring that gate to my future advancement; my thoughts would not have turned so frequently to that possibly hidden, useless hoard. I was frequently conscious that the whole thing might be, and probably was, a pure phantasm, and that there was no such hoard, and never had been; but, at the same time I was persuaded that Ballingall had not been a conscious liar.

"Things came to such a pitch that I found myself in possession of less than ten shillings, and with nothing pawnable on which to raise the wind-you must forgive my entering on these details, but it is absolutely necessary if you are to have a complete comprehension of my position. This, I told myself, was absurd, and if there really was something hidden at Clover Cottage worth having, which could be had for the finding, it was absurder still. I started then and there with a half-formed resolution to put the matter to a final test, and to look for myself. I reached Clover Cottage-to find that it was occupied. There was a plate outside, announcing that lessons were given in music. My mind had been in a tolerable state of confusion when I started. I was conscious of the apparent absurdity of my quest; and that consciousness had not grown less as I went on. The discovery that the house was tenanted made my confusion worse confounded. More than half ashamed of my errand, I was wholly at a loss what to do. While I hesitated, I chanced to glance up, and there, a few yards down the road, was … Ballingall."

"I knew it was Ballingall."

This was Madge.

Ella turned on her.

"You knew it was Ballingall? – How did you know it was Ballingall? It seems to me that you know everything."

"Miss Brodie," observed Bruce Graham, "very naturally draws her own conclusions. The sight of him turned me into a drivelling idiot. In the confusion of my mind his appearance on the scene at that particular moment seemed nothing short of supernatural. I felt as if I had been guilty of some act of treachery towards him, and as if he had sprung from goodness alone knew where to catch me in the very act. I blundered through the gate, knocked at the door and almost forced my way into the house."

"You did almost force your way into the house."

Madge's tone was grim.

"I'm afraid I did-and, being in, I blurted out some nonsense about being in search of music lessons, and generally misbehaved myself all round. As a climax, just as I was about to put an end to my intrusion, I saw Ballingall staring at me through the window. I would not have encountered him then for all the hidden hoards the world contains. I entreated Miss Brodie-to permit me to make my escape through the back door-and she did."

"Yes, and insulted you as you went."

Graham rose from his seat.

"You behaved to me, Miss Brodie, infinitely better than I deserved. You would have been perfectly justified in summoning a policeman, and giving me into charge. I can only thank you for your forbearance. I assure you of my most extreme penitence. And while I cannot expect that you will forgive me at once-"

"But I do forgive you."

Madge had also risen.

"Miss Brodie."

"Of course I do. And I did behave badly-like a wretch. But why didn't you explain?"

"You saw what, at the moment, was my capacity to explain, and now you perceive how extremely complicated the explanation would have had to be."

"But to think," cried Ella, "that we should be in the very centre of a mystery."

Jack struck in.

"Exactly-living in the very heart of it; surrounded by it on every side; having it staring you in the face whichever way you turn. What did I tell you? Isn't it blood-curdling? Like the man says in the song-you really never do know where you are."

Ella glanced at Madge.

"The burglary last night-do you think?"

"Of course it was."

"Ballingall?"

"Without a doubt."

"But, my dear, how can you be so sure?"

"He was hanging about all day-he tried again last night; it's as plain as it possibly can be."

Jack, puzzled, had been looking from one to the other.

"Perhaps you will tell us what is as plain as it possibly can be."

Ella turned to him.

"There was another burglary last night."

"Where?"

"Here-in the very middle of the night."

"Upon my honour! – this appears to be-Graham, this really does appear to be a pleasant house to live in. The delights of the country, with the horrors of town thrown in. – Did you catch the ruffian?"

"Madge heard him first."

"Oh-Madge heard him first?"

"Yes, and then she came and told me-"

"Where was he all the time?"

"Wait a bit, and I'll tell you. Then we both of us heard him-then Madge fired-"

"Fired? – what?"

"Your revolver."

"Gracious! – did she hit him?"

"She never saw him."

"Never saw him! Then what did she fire at?"

"Well-"

Ella stopped, as if somewhat at a loss. So Madge went on.

"I fired to let him know he was discovered. I believe the bullet lodged in the roof."

"Heavens! what a target."

"He took the hint, and did not wait to be made a target of himself."

"Then didn't you see him at all?"

"Through the window, as he was running down the road."

"Did you give the alarm?"

"We were in our night-dresses."

"Why, he might have murdered the two of you if he had liked."

"He might, but he didn't."

Madge's tone was dry. Ella put her hand up to her ears.

"Jack! – don't talk like that; I've been shivering ever since. You can't think what a day I've had in town, thinking of Madge in the house all alone."

"My dear girl." He put his arm about her waist, to comfort her. "And you think that it was-Graham's friend."

"It was Charles Ballingall."

This was Madge; Ella was less positive.

"My dear, how can you be so certain? You only caught a glimpse of the man's back in the darkness."

"He has committed burglary here before. His presence in the daytime is followed by another burglary that same night. Isn't the inference an obvious one? Don't you think so, Mr. Graham?

"It looks exceedingly suspicious. To convince a jury of his innocence he would have to prove an alibi."

"The burglar, whoever it was-and for the sake of argument we'll say that we don't know-took nothing with him, but he left something behind him, a piece of paper with writing on it. When the police came today-"

"Do you mean to say that the police have been here to-day?"

"Certainly-or, rather, a sample of them. And a lot of good he did, or is likely to do. I gave him the original piece of paper, but not before I had copied what was on it. Here is the copy. What do you make of it, Mr. Graham?"

Madge handed a sheet of paper to the gentleman addressed. As he looked at it Jack, too impatient to wait his turn, leaned over his elbow to look at it too.

"My stars! 'Tom Ossington's Ghost!' Large as life! Here's thrillers. What's that? 'Right-straight across-three four-up!' Here's mysteries! 'Right-cat-dog-cat-dog-cat-dog-dog-cat-dog-left eye, – push'-there seem to be several dogs after a good few cats. Perhaps it is my stupidity, but, while it's very interesting, I don't quite see what it means."

Madge paid no attention to Martyn. She kept her eyes fixed on his companion.

"What do you make of it, Mr. Graham?" she asked.

Bruce Graham continued silent for a moment longer, keeping his eyes fixed upon the paper. Then he looked up and met her glance.

"I think that we have here the key of the riddle, if we could only read it."

"If we could only read it!"

"Nor, from a superficial glance, should I imagine that that would be very difficult."

"Nor I."

"One thing it seems to me that this paper proves-that you were correct in your inference, and that last night's burglar was Charles Ballingall."

"I am sure of it."

"You two," interposed Martyn, "appear to be in thorough agreement-thorough! Which is the more delightful since you began by disagreeing. But you must excuse my saying that I don't quite see where the cause for harmony comes in."

"Are you so stupid?"

"My dear Madge! Don't strike me! It's constitutional."

"Don't you see what the situation really is?"

"Well-pardon me-but-really, you are so warm. Miss Brodie. If this gentleman were to allow me to study this interesting document, I might."

"Somewhere in this house, the dead man, Tom Ossington, concealed his fortune, all that he had worth having. It is as clear as if I saw the actual hiding place."

"My gracious goodness! Is it?"

"It is within a few feet of where we're standing. At this moment we're 'hot,' I know-I feel it!"

"Listen to that now! Madge, you must have second sight."

"That scrap of paper contains, as Mr. Graham puts it, the key of the riddle. It's a minute description of the precise whereabouts of the dead man's hiding place. All we have to do is to find out what it means, and if we are not all idiots, that shouldn't be hard. Why, you've only got to see the house; you've only to look about you, and use your eyes, to at once perceive that it's honeycombed with possible hiding places-just the sort of crevices and crannies which would commend themselves to such a man as this Tom Ossington. Look at this very room, for instance; it's wainscotted. That means, probably, that between the outer wall and the wainscot there's an open space-and who knows what beside? Listen!" She struck the wainscot in question with her open palm. "You can hear it has a hollow backing. Why" – she touched it again more gently, then stopped, as if puzzled-"why, the wood-work moves." She gave a little cry, "Ella."

"Madge?"

They came crowding round her, with eager faces.

CHAPTER IX

THE THING WHICH WAS HIDDEN

She had placed her hand against a portion of the wainscotting which was about level with her breast. As, in her excitement, she had unconsciously pressed it upwards, the panel had certainly moved. Between it and the wood below there was a cavity of perhaps a quarter of an inch.

"Push it! Push it higher!"

This was Jack. Apparently that was just what Madge was endeavouring to do, in vain.

"It won't move. It's stuck-or something."

Mr. Graham advanced.

"Allow me, perhaps I may manage."

She ceded to him her position. He placed his huge hand where her smaller one had been. He endeavoured his utmost to induce the panel to make a further movement.

"Put your fingers into the opening," suggested Jack, "and lever it."

Graham acted on the suggestion, without success. He examined the panel closely.

"If it were ever intended to go higher, the wood has either warped, or the groove in which it slides has become choked with dust."

Ella was peeping through the opening.

"There is something inside-there is, I don't know what it is, but there is something-I can see it. Oh, Mr. Graham, can't you get it open wider!"

"Here, here! let's get the poker; we'll try gentle persuasion."

Jack, forcing the point of the poker into the cavity, leant his weight upon the handle. There was a creaking sound-and nothing else.

"George! it's stiff! I'm putting on a pressure of about ten tons."

As he paused, preparatory to exerting greater force, Madge, brushing him aside, caught the poker from him. She drove the point against the wainscot with all her strength-once, twice, thrice. The wood was shivered into fragments.

"There! I think that's done the business."

So far as destroying the panel was concerned, it certainly had. Only splinters remained. The wall behind was left almost entirely bare. They pressed forward to see what the act of vandalism had disclosed.

Between the wainscot and the party-wall there was a space of two or three inches. Among the cobwebs and the dust there was plainly something-something which was itself so encrusted with a coating of dust as to make it difficult, without closer inspection, to tell plainly what it was.

Ella prevented Jack from making a grab at it.

"Let Madge take it-it's hers-she's the finder."

Madge, snatching at it with eager fingers, withdrew the something from its hiding-place.

"Covered," exclaimed Jack, "with the dust of centuries!"

"It's covered," returned the more practical Madge, "at any rate with the dust of a year or two."

She wiped it with a napkin which she took from the sideboard drawer.

"Why," cried Ella, "it's nothing but a sheet of paper."

Jack echoed her words.

"That's all-blue foolscap-folded in four."

Madge unfolded what indeed seemed nothing but a sheet of paper. The others craned their necks to see what it contained. In spite of them she managed to get a private peep at the contents, and then closed it hastily.

"Guess what it is," she said.

"A draft on the Bank of Elegance for a million sterling." This was Jack.

"I fancy it is some sort of legal document."

This was Graham. Ella declined to guess.

"Don't be so tiresome, Madge; tell us what it is?"

"Mr. Graham is right-it is a legal document. It's a will, the will of Thomas Ossington. At least I believe it is. If you'll give me breathing space I'll read it to you every word."

She drew herself away from them. When she was a little relieved of their too pressing importunities, she unfolded the paper slowly-with dramatic impressiveness.

"Listen-to a voice from the grave."

She read to them the contents of the document, in a voice which was a trifle shaky: -

"I give and bequeath, absolutely, this house, called Clover Cottage, which is my house, and all else in the world which at present is, or, in time to come, shall become my property, to the person who finds my fortune, which is hidden in this house, whoever the finder may chance to be.

"I desire that the said finder shall be the sole heir to all my worldly goods, and shall be at liberty to make such use of them as he or she may choose.

"I do this because I have no one else to whom to leave that of which I am possessed.

"I have neither kith nor kin-nor friend.

"My wife has left me, my friend has betrayed me; my child is dead.

"I am a lonely man.

"May my fortune bring more happiness to the finder than it has ever brought to me.

"God grant it.

"This is my last will and testament.

"(Signed) Thomas Ossington,

"October the twenty-second, 1892.

"In the presence of Edward John Hurley,

Solicitor's Clerk,

13, Hercules Buildings, Holborn.

And of Louisa Broome,

2, Acacia Cottages, Battersea

(Maid-servant at present in the employ of the said Thomas Ossington)."

The reading was followed by silence, possibly the silence of amazement. The first observation came from Jack.

"By George!"

The next was Ella's.

"Dear life!"

For some reason, Madge's eyes were dim, and her tone still shaking.

"Isn't it a voice from the grave?" She looked down, biting her lower lip; then up again. "I think, Mr. Graham, this may be more in your line than ours."

She handed him the paper.

He read it. Without comment he passed it to Jack, who read it with Ella leaning over his shoulder. He placed it on the table, where they all four gathered round and looked at it.

The paper was stained here and there as with spots of damp. But these had in no way blurred the contents.

The words were as clear and legible as on the day they were written. The caligraphy was small and firm, and a little finical, but as easy to read as copperplate: the handwriting of a man who had taken his time, and who had been conscious that he was engaged on a weighty and a serious matter. The testator's signature was rather in contrast with the body of the document, and was bold and strong, as if he had desired that the witnesses should have no doubt about the fact that it was his name he was affixing.

Edward John Hurley's attestation was in a cramped legal hand, expressionless, while Louisa Broome's was large and straggling, the sign-manual of an uneducated woman.

Jack Martyn asked a question, addressed to Graham.

"Is it a will? – a valid one, I mean?"

"Looking at it on the surface, I should say certainly-if the witnesses can be produced to prove the signatures. Indeed, given certain circumstances, even that should not be necessary. The man expresses his wishes; their meaning is perfectly plain; he gives reasons for them. No testator need do more than that. What may seem the eccentric devising of his property is, in his position, easily accounted for, and is certainly consistent with entire sanity. Thousands of more eccentric documents have been held to be good in law. I have little doubt-if the testator's signature can be proved-that the will is as sound as if it had been drawn up by a bench of judges."

Madge drew a long breath. Jack was jocular, or meant to be. "Think of that, now!"

"But I don't see," said Ella, "that we're any forwarder now, or that we're any nearer to Madge's mysterious hoard. The will-if it is a will-says that the fortune is hidden in the house, but it doesn't give the faintest notion where. We might pull the whole place to pieces and then not find it."

"Suppose the whole affair is a practical joke?"

Mr. Graham commented on Jack's insinuation.

"I have been turning something over in my mind, and I think, Martyn, that I can bring certain facts to bear upon your supposition which will go far to show that it is unlikely that there is much in the nature of a practical joke about the matter. I want to call attention to Miss Brodie's copy of the paper which the burglar left behind last night-to the second line. Now observe." He crossed the room. "The paper says 'Right'-I have the door-post on my right, close to my right arm. The paper says 'straight across'-I walk straight across the room. Miss Brodie, have you a tape measure?"

Madge produced one which she ferreted out of a work-basket which was on a chair in a corner.

"The paper says 'three '-I measure three feet from where I am standing, along the wainscot-you see? It says 'four'-I measure four feet from the floor. As you perceive, that measurement brings us exactly to the panel behind which the will was hidden. The paper says 'up.' As Miss Brodie showed, there can be no doubt whatever that the panel was meant to move up. Owing to the efflux of time and to disuse, it had become jammed. Does not all this suggest that we have here an explanation of part of what was written on the burglar's paper?"