Tom Ossington's Ghost. Marsh Richard

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      "Are you sure he was alone?"

      "We shall be able to make sure by going down to see."

      "Oh, Madge, do you think-"

      "No, my dear, I don't, or I should be no more desirous of going down than you. I'm only willing to go and see if there is some one there because I'm sure there isn't."

      There was not-luckily. There was little conspicuously heroic about the bearing of the young ladies as they descended the stairs to suggest that they would have made short work of any ruthless ruffian who might have been in hiding. About halfway down, Madge gave what was perhaps an involuntary little cough; at which Ella started as if the other had been guilty of a crime; and both paused as if fearful that something dreadful might ensue. The sitting-room door was closed. They hung about the handle as if it had been the entrance to some Bluebeard's den, and unimaginable horrors were concealed within. When Madge, giving the knob a courageous twist, flung the door wide open, Ella's face was pasty white. Both perceptibly retreated, as if expecting some monster to spring out on them. But no one sprang-apparently because there was no one there.

      A current of cold air came from the room.

      "The window's open."

      Ella's voice was tremulous. Her tremor had the effect of making Madge sarcastic.

      "That's probably because our visitor opened it. You could hardly expect him to stop to close it, could you?"

      She went boldly into the room-Ella hard on her heels. She held the candle above her head-to have it almost blown out by the draught. She placed it on the table.

      "If we want to have a light upon the subject, we shall have to shut that window."

      She did so. Then looked about her.

      "Well, he doesn't seem to have left many tokens of his presence. There's a chair knocked over, and he's pushed the cloth half off the table, but I don't see anything else."

      "He seems to have taken nothing."

      "Probably that was because there was nothing worth his taking. If he came here in search of plunder, he must have gone away a disgusted man."

      "If he came here in search of plunder? – what else could he have come for?"

      "Ah! that's the question."

      "What's this?" Stooping, Ella picked up something off the floor. "Here's something he's left behind, at any rate."

      She was holding a scrap of paper.

      "What is it-a pièce de conviction of the first importance: the button off the coat by means of which the infallible detective hunts down the callous criminal?"

      "I don't know what it is. It's a sort of hieroglyphic-if it isn't-nonsense."

      Madge went and looked over her shoulder. Ella was holding half a sheet of dirty white notepaper, on which was written, with very bad ink and a very bad pen, in a very bad hand: -

"TOM OSSINGTON'S GHOST."

      "Right-Straight across-three-four-up.

      "Right-cat-dog-cat-dog-cat-dog-cat-dog-left eye-push."

      The two girls read to the end-then over again. Then they looked at each other-Madge with smiling eyes.

      "That's very instructive, isn't it?"

      "Very. There seems to be a good deal of cat and dog about it."

      "There does, I wonder what it means."

      "If it means anything."

      Madge, taking the paper from Ella's hand, went with it closer to the candle. She eyed it very shrewdly, turning it over and over, and making as if she were endeavouring to read between the lines.

      "Do you know, Ella, that there is something curious about this."

      "I suppose there is, since it's gibberish; and gibberish is curious."

      "No, I'm not thinking of that. I'm thinking of the heading-'Tom Ossington's Ghost.' Do you know that that enterprising stranger, who came in search of music lessons he didn't want, asked me if my name was Ossington, and if no one of that name lived here."

      "Are you sure Ossington was the name he mentioned? It's an unusual one."

      "Certain; it was because it was an unusual one that I particularly noticed it. Then that dreadful woman was full of her ghosts, even claiming, as you heard, to be the ghost's wife. Doesn't it strike you, under the circumstances, as odd that the paper the burglar has left behind him, should be headed 'Tom Ossington's Ghost'?"

      "It does seem queer-though I don't know what you are driving at."

      "No; I don't know what I am driving at either. But I do know that I am driving at something. I'm beginning to think that I shall see a glimmer of light somewhere soon-though at present I haven't the faintest notion where."

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