"Listen!" There is little traffic in the square at night All was still. "He is playing!"
For a second or two I did not grasp my nephew's meaning. But, as I strained my ears to catch the slightest sound, I understood it better, for I caught the sound of a fiddle. It was very faint, so faint as to be scarcely audible. But it was unmistakable.
"Come," said Ernest; "let us go nearer."
We approached the house. In front of it we paused. Beyond doubt the music came from within, and from an upper room; the same quaint melody which we had heard before, played by a master's hand.
"I wonder why he always plays that tune?"
I was unable to supply the information. Frankly, I was becoming a little bewildered. With the lady at the rag-shop, I had no faith in "ghostesses and such-like rubbishes," but the thing was getting curious.
I opened the front door with my latchkey. An unusual spectacle greeted us as we entered the hall. All the maids were grouped together in a little crowd, guarded, as it were, by the stalwart Rouse. There was no necessity to ask the cause—it was the music in the drawing-room. Rouse, however, seemed to think that an explanation was required.
"It's not my fault, sir; I couldn't get them to stop in the kitchen. They seem to think that there's a spirit, sir, upstairs. The playing has been going on for half an hour and more."
"Don't let me have any nonsense. I'm ashamed of you. Are you afraid of a fiddle?"
The cook ventured on a meek remonstrance.
