board, which is in the old brown trunk in the lobby."
Celia was regarding her in fascinated horror. "Are you really proposing to sit with a planchette in this house?" she asked faintly.
"Not only I, my dear, but all of us. We sit round in a circle, laying the tips of our fingers on the board, and wait for some message to be transcribed."
"Nothing," said Celia vehemently, "would induce me to take part in any such proceeding! The whole thing's bad enough as it is without us trying to invoke the Monk."
"Very well," said Mrs. Bosanquet, not in the least ruffled, "if that is how you feel about it it would be no good your attempting to sit with us. But I for one shall certainly make the attempt."
"This means you won't go back to town!" Celia said unhappily. "I knew what it would be! No, don't tell me I can go without you, Charles. I may be a bad wife, and wake you up to look in the wardrobe in the small hours, but I am not such a bad wife that I'd go away and leave you with a ghost and a planchette."
"I wish you would go back to town, old lady," Charles said. "I don't mean that I don't appreciate this selfimmolating heroism, but it's no use scaring yourself, and nothing dire is at all likely to happen to me. If I thought there was any danger," he added handsomely, "you should stay and share it with me."
"Thanks," said Celia. "I might have known you'd joke about it. I don't know whether there's what you call danger, but if you're going to ask for trouble by putting your hands on Aunt's horrible planchette I shan't leave your side for one moment."
"Cheer up!" Charles said. "I don't mind giving the board a shove to please Aunt Lilian, but last night has completely convinced me that the Monk is as real as you are. In fact, if Margaret is going to town on Thursday she can rout out my service revolver, and the cartridges she'll find with it, and bring them back with her."
"If you think that I should be pleased by you deliberately pushing the board, you are sadly mistaken," said Mrs. Bosanquet severely. "Moreover, I have the greatest objection to fire-arms, and if you propose to let off guns at all hours of the day I shall be obliged to go back to London."
She was with difficulty appeased, and only a promise extracted from Charles not to fire any lethal weapon without due warning soothed her indignation. Breakfast came to an end, and after Celia had had a heart-to-heart talk with her husband, and Margaret hadd begged Peter not to do anything rash, such as shooting at vague figures seen in the dark, the two men left the house, ostensibly to fish.
"What we are going to do now," said Charles, "is to carry on some investigations on our own."
"Then we'd better drift along to the Bell," said Peter. "We may as well put in some fishing till opening time, though. If you want to pump old Wilkes you won't find him up yet."
Charles consulted his watch. "I make it half-past ten."
"I daresay you do, but friend Wilkes takes life easy. He's never visible at this hour. Not one of our early risers.
"All right then," Charles said. "We might fish the near stream for a bit."
Sport, however, proved poor that morning, and shortly before twelve they decided to give up, and stroll on towards the inn. They were already within a few minutes' walk of it, and they arrived before the bar was open.
"Have you been into the courtyard yet?" Peter asked. "You ought to see that. Real Elizabethan work; you can almost imagine miracles and moralities being played there. Come on." He led the way through an arch in the middle of the building, and they found themselves in a cobbled yard, enclosed by the house. A balcony ran all round the first storey, and various bedroom windows opened on to this. A modern garage occupied the end of the building opposite the archway into the street, but Mr. Wilkes had had this built in keeping with the rest of the inn, and had placed his petrol pump as inconspicuously as possible. Some clipped yews in wooden tubs stood in the
Celia was regarding her in fascinated horror. "Are you really proposing to sit with a planchette in this house?" she asked faintly.
"Not only I, my dear, but all of us. We sit round in a circle, laying the tips of our fingers on the board, and wait for some message to be transcribed."
"Nothing," said Celia vehemently, "would induce me to take part in any such proceeding! The whole thing's bad enough as it is without us trying to invoke the Monk."
"Very well," said Mrs. Bosanquet, not in the least ruffled, "if that is how you feel about it it would be no good your attempting to sit with us. But I for one shall certainly make the attempt."
"This means you won't go back to town!" Celia said unhappily. "I knew what it would be! No, don't tell me I can go without you, Charles. I may be a bad wife, and wake you up to look in the wardrobe in the small hours, but I am not such a bad wife that I'd go away and leave you with a ghost and a planchette."
"I wish you would go back to town, old lady," Charles said. "I don't mean that I don't appreciate this selfimmolating heroism, but it's no use scaring yourself, and nothing dire is at all likely to happen to me. If I thought there was any danger," he added handsomely, "you should stay and share it with me."
"Thanks," said Celia. "I might have known you'd joke about it. I don't know whether there's what you call danger, but if you're going to ask for trouble by putting your hands on Aunt's horrible planchette I shan't leave your side for one moment."
"Cheer up!" Charles said. "I don't mind giving the board a shove to please Aunt Lilian, but last night has completely convinced me that the Monk is as real as you are. In fact, if Margaret is going to town on Thursday she can rout out my service revolver, and the cartridges she'll find with it, and bring them back with her."
"If you think that I should be pleased by you deliberately pushing the board, you are sadly mistaken," said Mrs. Bosanquet severely. "Moreover, I have the greatest objection to fire-arms, and if you propose to let off guns at all hours of the day I shall be obliged to go back to London."
She was with difficulty appeased, and only a promise extracted from Charles not to fire any lethal weapon without due warning soothed her indignation. Breakfast came to an end, and after Celia had had a heart-to-heart talk with her husband, and Margaret hadd begged Peter not to do anything rash, such as shooting at vague figures seen in the dark, the two men left the house, ostensibly to fish.
"What we are going to do now," said Charles, "is to carry on some investigations on our own."
"Then we'd better drift along to the Bell," said Peter. "We may as well put in some fishing till opening time, though. If you want to pump old Wilkes you won't find him up yet."
Charles consulted his watch. "I make it half-past ten."
"I daresay you do, but friend Wilkes takes life easy. He's never visible at this hour. Not one of our early risers.
"All right then," Charles said. "We might fish the near stream for a bit."
Sport, however, proved poor that morning, and shortly before twelve they decided to give up, and stroll on towards the inn. They were already within a few minutes' walk of it, and they arrived before the bar was open.
"Have you been into the courtyard yet?" Peter asked. "You ought to see that. Real Elizabethan work; you can almost imagine miracles and moralities being played there. Come on." He led the way through an arch in the middle of the building, and they found themselves in a cobbled yard, enclosed by the house. A balcony ran all round the first storey, and various bedroom windows opened on to this. A modern garage occupied the end of the building opposite the archway into the street, but Mr. Wilkes had had this built in keeping with the rest of the inn, and had placed his petrol pump as inconspicuously as possible. Some clipped yews in wooden tubs stood in the
Similar Books
