"It is not a door, but a cupboard in the solid wall."
Sir Walter opened the receptacle as he spoke. The cupboard—some six and a half feet high—was empty. At the back of it appeared a row of pegs for clothes.
"I can finish with the room for the present at any rate, in an hour, gentlemen," said Hardcastle. "I'll spend the time here till luncheon. Had your son-in-law any interest in old furniture, Sir Walter?"
"None whatever to my knowledge. He was interested, poor fellow, not in the contents, but in the evil reputation of the room. Its bad name dated back far beyond the occupation of my family. Captain May laughed at my mistrust, and, as you know, he came here, contrary to my express wishes, in order that he might chaff me next morning over my superstition. He wanted 'to clear its character,' as he said."
Hardcastle was turning over the stack of old oil-paintings in tarnished frames.
"Family portraits?"
"Yes."
"You mistrusted the room yourself, Sir Walter?"
"After Nurse Forrester's death I did. Not before. But while attaching no importance myself to the tradition, I respected it."
"Nobody else ever spent a night here after the lady's death?"
"Nobody. Of that I am quite certain."
"Have you not left the house since?"
