ning up the cellar stairs. Hannah, pale and panting for breath, ran to them and fell into a chair.
"There is someone, or something, down there in the cellar," she cried, wild eyed and trembling with fear. "I was reaching for a glass of jelly on one of the shelves, in the dark, when I distinctly heard a low, horrible laugh, like a crazy person. I was so surprised, that I screamed, and ran up here as fast as I could."
Drake was visibly worried. What did it mean? Had this anything to do with the footsteps of the night before? His wife was inclined to laugh, and jokingly remarked that she would obtain a guard for them. He got a flash-light and searched the cellar from end to end. Everything looked the same as the day before, and he could find nothing suspicious. He began to think that Hannah’s imagination had gotten the best of her. Although his wife was indifferent, he found that he could not feel entirely satisfied that all was well. Both occurrences were mysterious, to say the least. Was it possible the mansion had an unsavory history? That would explain the low rental. If that was it, they would, no doubt, hear some talk before many days elapsed. People in small communities liked to talk, and it wouldn’t be long before they would begin to hear things, if there was anything wrong with the old house, he reasoned.
At five o’clock that same day, Drake left for New Haven to attend a banquet of authors, and was to return on a late train. About eight-thirty Hannah went to her room. Mrs. Drake seated herself in a comfortable chair in the library, with a book, intending to read until her husband’s return. Some time later she found herself staring at the gas light and feeling very uneasy. Slowly but surely the light went out and left her sitting in total dark. She sat there, afraid to move. What had caused the light to go out? There was no breeze coming in at the open window. She found enough courage to search the library for a match. Finding one, she lit the gas again. It burned with a bright flame. Somewhat alarmed, she decided to go to her room, and sit there until Drake got in. Allowing the light to stay lit in the library, she went into the hall to the dark stairway, and began to ascend. Halfway up she thought she heard footsteps following her. Nervously she looked over her shoulder into the darkness below. She stopped, trembling, and listened. There was nothing but awful silence. Regaining her courage to some extent, she climbed the remaining steps and entered her room.
Hannah was awakened by a piercing shriek. Trembling violently, she succeeded in lighting the gas jet at the head of her bed. Who had screamed? She heard someone crying, and, recognizing her mistress' voice, opened the door and hurried down the hall to the lighted room. As she went to Mrs. Drake, she stared in amazement at something on the floor. There, in a little pool of blood, lay Pong, the pet monkey, with his throat cut from ear to ear. This was terrible. What mysterious agent was at work in the lonely house? It was uncanny. Mrs. Drake lay down on the bed and sobbed hysterically. Hannah closed the door, and wringing her hands with agitation, slumped into a chair as far away from the dead animal as possible. Who or what had caused the little pet’s death? Now she though she knew what the milkman meant by his remarks to her. The house was haunted! That was the terrible truth, she thought. As soon as morning came, she would leave the place. It was the last night she would spend in the big house.
Both women fell asleep from nervous exhaustion, and were awakened next morning by the door-bell ringing violently. Hannah went down to the door and was relieved to see Drake standing there. He had missed his train, and taken the first one in the morning. She explained to him in a few words what had happened during his absence. He rushed upstairs to console his wife. He was indeed surprised, and blamed himself for leaving the women alone.
Pong was buried under one of the pines and Hannah was induced to stay, although against her better judgment.
Coming back to the house after a stroll through the woods that afternoon, the Drakes were startled by seeing a heavy, black crepe on the front door. They stared in amazement. What did it mean? Could Hannah have died during their short absence? It could not be. They hurried to the kitchen, and were relieved to find her busy baking bread. They did not mention the finding of the crepe to her, for fear she would think it an ill omen, and clear out. Drake quietly went to the front of the house to remove it. Stepping on to the porch, he was dumfounded to find that it had disappeared. He searched the front yard, and around the flowers, yet was unable to see any trace of it. He was extremely puzzled by this, and went into the living room, to his wife.
"Ethel, I wonder if somebody is playing a joke on us?" he asked thoughtlessly.
"Do you call murdering little Pong a joke?" she snapped.
"Of course not," he answered. "This place must be getting on my nerves. I can’t seem to think clearly. But you know yourself that crepe was not on the door when we went out today. It must have been put there by some human hand. And there must surely be something wrong with the gas. Probably the pipe is plugged up in some manner. I will send for someone to look at it."
He went to a desk and wrote a note, then, seeing a boy with a bicycle he called to him. Giving the lad a dime, he asked him to deliver the note at the gas office.
Ten minutes later Drake went to the cellar to look for some garden tools. As he entered, he was surprised to see a sickly-looking fellow standing near the door. His face wore a hard expression, and he was clothed in very dirty army clothes. He had a light, unkempt beard of several months’ growth. His eyes had a fiery, piercing look. He did not speak.
Drake stared at him dumbly for a minute, then asked, "What are you doing here?"
The fellow looked at him strangely, and slowly replied, "I came here to fix the gas. Just got here. Haven’t had time to look around."
Drake wondered how on earth he could have gotten there so quickly but simply said, "Oh, I see; well, go ahead with the job. I won’t keep you."
He selected a spade and rake, and walked to the front of the house, with the intention of setting out some flowers, before dark. As he rounded the corner of the house, he noticed a workman, with a tool-kit, coming through the trees.
"You are Mr. Drake, I suppose," he remarked, as they met on the path. "I got your note, and came right up in the flivver. What kind of trouble did you have with the gas?"
"What!" exclaimed Drake, his jaw dropping in astonishment. "There must be some mistake. There’s a workman in the cellar now trying to find the trouble."
"Can’t be anybody from the gas company, because we have only two men, and the other fellow is home sick," answered the man shortly.
"Come around and see if you know him," said Drake, and together they went to the cellar.
They entered, but could see no one. The man had disappeared. The gasman looked at Drake inquiringly, and shrugged his shoulders.
"This is singular," said Drake, deeply mystified. "I can’t understand it at all."
