The Storyteller.

Taranaki Daily News, 7 August 1915, Page 9

The Storyteller.

(By Harold Hniter).

: THE END HOOSB.

"No," said Jude -Vonv.'ll, tho grey- • headed M.D., to whom appeal had been made, "I do not believe in gliosis—in the common, vulgar, vfhite-sheetcd apparition of fiction. At the same time. I subscribe most emphatically to the opinion expressed by Hamlet, in liius which have become hackneyed by repeated quotation. _ "Xo man in his senses, I suppose, will deny the existence of the occult—a world dim, dark and mysterious—about which all that we know is very little, although science and the Psychical Research Society together have been able to discover a lew facts, and make some very close guesses. "I have met with at least one very curious experience myself," added the doctor, after a pause. _ On the apparently well-authenticated report of a haunted house somewhere in the Midlands, the newspapers had been flooded with correspondence. The matter was being discussed in the doctors drawing-room. The guests clamored for the story. "It belongs to my student days." said Xorwell, "when I was a dresser at Bart's, and lodged for a while in Twelmlow Terrace—a row of substantial-looking Georgian residences at the Highbury end of the Upper Street, Islington. At that time Islington was still reckoned a suburb, Highbury a rural retreat. " Severe and formal in appearance, there was no suggestion of romance, intrigue, mystery or crime about Twelmlow Terrace. Everything appertaining to it, indeed, was rigid, frigid and oppressively respectable. The houses wer« inhabited chiefly by people as solid and substantial as the dwellings they lived in—portly, middle\aged gentlemen, with their buxom partners and thriving fami* lies. "The only exception was at No. 9, the ' end house, which, after having stood empty for .some years, had been taken by two ladies —sisters and unmarried who brought with them a nephew, a young man of Ave and twenty, a clerU in an jnsur. .icc office, and who announced that they were willing to receive a gentleman boarder. "The Green Lanes—the-y were green in the early 'sixties—was a favorite Sunday afternoon stroll of mine m those davs, and with the summer at hjnd Trelmlow Terrace, I considered, would sTiit ine very nicely for the next -fey, months. "The hfluse had a; fine walled garden, with several noble tree 3, and an outlook over the spacious grounds of Canonbnry Place; so, when Miss Fennel intimated that if I prei-errcd It, she eoul l give me a room on each side of ti>e landing, both of them overlooking the garden, I closed with the suggestion at once. "Little diil T -think at the time to what tinimaginod results the change in the arrangements was to lead—of the grim secret it was to reveal ; or of the extraordinary agency by which the revelation would be made. "I had been domiciled nt 9, Twelmlow Terrace, for seven weeks—weeks which hud passed placidly, uneventfully T had been out a few times with Mr. Fotherby, the nephew of my landladies. T hail made a fourth now and then at sundry game? of whist. " Then a n»w jrirl came on the scene n,i'l with her advent there was a change in the atmosphere of Xo. 9. It became el arged with myatcry. "One morning Fennel*, who had eon.; up her.-elf to take away the breakfast things—a most unusual pro-w-Hiur >"r pari.—surprised" me ty ' irsr if T 1"1(1 anything to complain of —env fnult to find with the was 'evident to iv.e that she was in a =late of sumrcsfed agitation. " -Fi'iilt to'fiml with the room?' I said, 'Whatever do you mean* The room is a very bright and cheerml on°- •plentv of light, plenty of sun, an.l the'-"anion just now a perfect riot of eolor? Have I given yon any reason. Mi<s Fcmier, to suppose 1 am dissatis-

tied?' v ~ , '■'Xo Mr. Xorwell.' she saiu, 'you have not. lint I thought just for my r.vn satisfaction I would ask.' •••What's the matter, then?' I said, for mv landlady's explanation bad aiv'Eken'ed inv curiosity. Moreover, t.xrajli she had r- !,t t,,(> t] '™? T " t "- ,i,10r s' .• i.d r.c taken nr. the --;, v. „„,„• -->, . »...- -5-.V.A iravcii'mj: l&1 ""' ;'•' . »'a'li i noticed, too, that there «ai «n »>»=asy light in them-a light I l.al u.'ver seen there before. ■•«y 0 u often sit up late reading. Mr. V-invcll, don"t you?' •• 'I do. I've my last examination to pass; anl I've taken updone or two e::Uc subjects. The subconscious work rcricrmcJ 1 bv the brain, and the exi-t----,-ncc r.t the "sixth sense, dependent ior itj r.ei'.on upon nervous radiation o;..•;■ftting in much the same way a", an electric current, are in which I take an immense interest,' I said. 'TV.oy epen "')' such vast possibilities. The 'human brain is a marvellous organ, Miss Tenner—a fascinating study.' '•Miss Fcnr.or smiled. I'm afraid 1 unJentanl very little of those things, Mr. Xonvell—very little indeed. 'J hen voii have nothing, nothing at all to

com plain of. " 'No,' I sai.l. 'nothing: but won't y'bu tell n'.e what's, the matter? Veil're i.ooV.i'S rather perturbed yourself this mnrnin-.. -jomething must have occurred to suggest the (juestion. I h-ivn teen with you now—let me see.

sr.vc.-n wee:_ 3 *'■ 'By the way,' I broke off. 'I see you've got ' a new girl—a rati" r nicelooking " girl. Jane, isn't that liet nnme?'

"Mi's Fenner looked at me rather hard before answering. 'Ye..,' she said, 'she's only been in London ten months. She fames from Dorset. This is ;.... r ,-i---l p'a.e. She's been with me a .-.:''. '..'..- " but s'..- '-">ts to b-_.vo. and, ,1 don't think we should be -V> _ ) U«i'P tcr. .Jhc makes me ojuite '"'•-Indeed'' I said, 'l'o»' : 3 that? She ~„«,, a nice girl-very willing and fblisin".' ..-'•She is. But-er—well, she see. *X\i\e* I*" 1 >' m,,st bc fancy : L,-(, ?" s(1 you because no one else-my nephew "Tiliss Fenner seemed to h»*e a, diffl«rltv in explaining. . '.'Sees things doesMiet' I chipped ln 'What sort of things Better let ae l'.»ve a talk with her. As a student „£ mediae she rather interests mt

"•Ves, by Jove!' I exclaimed, 'this promises to be vastly interesting. Now I think of it, have you noticed her eyes'! l"raps not. Hut a doctor always; looks at the eyes. It becomes a habit with him; and I noticed Jane's eyes a morning or two ago when 1 saw her in this room. Sees things! Ves, I shouldn't wonder. Sees things. Miss Fenner, that ordinary people like you and 1 can't -ee.' "'I don't want to see them. It may be very interesting to you. Mr. Xorwell/ said tiie lady, rather coldly, -but all i can say is she's frightened us—my sister and I—almost out of our wits. .She has a queer look about the eyes now, certainly. But she hadn't that look when she came; or I don't think I would have taken her. She only began to have it a week ago, when she came downstairs and said she couldn't finish dusting your room—that it was haunt-, ed. Haunted by a foreign-looking young woman with a face full of sadness, sorrow and suffering. My own opinion is that the girl's queer in her head. And my nephew agrees. She won't go into *the room alone if you are not here; and she's taken to run past the door as if she's afraid of something popping out.'

"I smiled. 'As for the room being haunted, in the vulgar sense, of course, I said, 'that is absurd. At the same time, just as the composer can hear music which no ear but his own can hear, and the artist can see in the human face what no eye but his own can distinguish, and the camera can detect what the unaided vision fails to notice, so there are phenomena which can only be preeeived—how shall I make it clear to you?—well, by a person whose consciousness, exquisitely senBitised and intensified, is prepared by trie action of nervous radiation to receive impressions which the great majority of us are not open to. The par- , ticular set of brain cells involved record the impressions quite independently of any effort of mind or will on the part of the persons themselves: —in particular cases' they may even visualise the impression received, ' and, projecting them across the mental retina, them visible to the eye 0' the mind. " 'That,' I said, 'sounds like an extract from a college lecture, doesn't it? And I don't know now if I've really made it any clearer. • There are processes of the mind, Miss Fenner, which are very difficult of explanation, especially as we know but very little of the working of the brain.

" 'So the girl thinks the room is haunted, does she? Well, now, that's rather funny.' "Miss Fenner waited for me to go 00.

'■' 'Because I'm inclined to agree with her. Yes, I think it is—l think it is. haunted.'

"Poor Miss Fenner looked as if she were going to faint.

" 'But, Mr. Xorwell,' she stammered, 'you assured me that you had not been disturbed—that you had seen nothing. And you have been in the room after midnight,' she added.

"' Surely,' she ran on, 'surely, Mr. Xorwell, you don't believe the place is haunted just because Jane, an uneducated servant girl, says she has seen a —a figure. In the daytime, too'

"'I don't know what Jane . says.' I answered, 'l'll talk to her by-and-bye. But I should be mere inclined to bciieve her if she says she saw a ghost in the daytime—don't start, Miss Fenner; it's only a poor, ill-used word after all —than if it were the regulation, \Vhitosheeted, midnight ghost of sensational fiction. While as to leer being uneducated, education has nothing whatever to do with the setting up of a certain mental condition impossible to enlarge upon now, but during which, you may take it from me. the subject both sees and hears things impossible to he seen and beard in a normal state.

" 'But it is what I cm now going to tell you which gives special interest to what you have told me.' I didn't understand the drift of your questions about the room. Xow I do.

'"Well. I repeat that personally I have nothing to complain of. AS the same, 1 may say that, almost from the first? week, I have had a sense of an6ther presence in the room —sometimes it lias been so strong that 1 have locked around, supposing someone bad entered. And, again, it has been just a faint impression—gone :'..00~t as soon a? made. :t 7ms r:".u' taken bodily sbav '.owe'. <.t-- v.i>: ?<■ at .-:iiy time been more ii'sr. a sort o! h:i;;er onal shadow. Tc7e;:..thie sympathy lias been set up; but not to such an extent as to visualise' the impression. With Jane it lias gone f.'rther. Her nervous organisation——' ••■'Oli. Mr. Xorweii!' exclaimed the poor lady, giving an involuntary shudder. 'What with your invisible presence, and her visible one. really. 1 don't think I could stay in the r.iom alone ai'uv dark l'or a fo'itur.e. I don't think vo shall be able to stay in the house, in .'act.'

! ■">.i__..-.e.isc. Mi.-s iYnner!' 1 sail. 'XnllSOlljO! Voll il.Wi- 1 (I'll ill till:; IMOIII hundreds <f time, an I liiiVi- never .-ecu, hoard or been iniiv.es. ct with anything on.'. d)i tin- or.iiiisry. So. ami you ! r.evcr would. The_'< 's nothing in the ' least for You to be afraid of. With tlic 1 prii-I. however, it's dili'crent. She thinks -he has sira what is vulgarly 'called a tlicil. an;l naturally ".eel's | fi-ifihlonoil. She Wis dune nothing of the sort. What i In- La- seen i.-i a mental picture of someone who olid- u-od t'.ii.. room, who probably went 1 in<rjj;li so"': 1 I'-rri'i'.o or teni.yhig experience in it. a:id whoso personality -till p'-vvadr-- ' it—r.- the ™if of flowers will linger He;-.- after tile liowcrs themselves are . (lea-!, and have ever b. en removal, j -The past, remember, in only pa-t .—not destroyed. The eiivtain comes ('own jin,l hides it flora \iew. liut it is :-i:il \\-.-Y: - licliiiul the i_-iu-tii.il'. u..i,. .01..- l-Vniii-r jraspel. She in- in a maze of i-oii!■ iotinii emotion-, j "'Kxcuse me,' 1 said, "hut 1 want to niahe the situation as clear as I can. I was inclined to put my own ini;>re-sion down to a train abnormally excited liv | ti-.n study of ■problems connected with its functions, faculties and modes of ' working.. Sow I know that I was i wrong—that the brain did not create .the impression received from tl;_: outside. An impression of some external event—of something appertaining especially to this room, since ] never experienced jtsin liny oilier part (if the house. When T left the room I tost the impression.' " 'Something. 1 said, •'must have happened here, Miss FuMicr—something tragia.'

- "'Lor. Mr. Xonvcll,' the good lady burst out, 'you iluii't surely mean that there's been a murder committed here : I never heard of any tragedy in Twclmluw Terrace: and I've lived in Islington these twenty years.' '"I don't know. 1 said. 'These things eau't be explained as easily as why two-and-two make four. Indeed, in the. present state of knowledge, I doubt if they can be explained at all—at any rate to persona who have not been accustomed to handle them. We must take tlp'in as we find them—without asking for the explanation , We shan't get it if we do. And, now, suppose you ask the girl to step up.'

'"I wish the girl had never conic into tlio house,' muttered Miss Fcnner, who had gone the color otchalk,

•• 'I can understand your altitude,' [ said. 'Ves, and sympathise with it, 100. Rut you 111av depend upon il, poor Jane has no liking for the part which circumstances beyond her control are forcing her to play. I don't wonder at her not wanting to stay. A glimpse behind thc_ curtain is apt to shock the strongest nerves.' "Miss Fenncr left the room, and in a few minutes returned, bringing Jane with her. The, girl had a half guilty, half comprehensive look: and I noticed that as she came in she threw a rapid glance at a certain corner of the room; her eyes, indeed, seemed drawn to that corner. "'Well, Jane/ I said, -what's this tale you've been telling your mistress about a young woman you've seen ill lln-i room?' "'For-some minutes the girl would not speak, but fumbled and (idgetcd with the hem of her apron, glancing nervously about her, but always returning to the one comer. Tact and patience, however, made her open her lips at last. " 'You won't believe me,' she naid, sullcnljy'any move than missus. Vou'll onlv laugh at me, same as Mr. Fotherby/

'••No,' I said, looking at her seriously 'I think there's something in your story ,and I want to hear it. I want lo knoiv about this young woman—what she's like. You can tell iv.e that, surelv?'

•'ln a few minutes the girl found her tongue, and, gaining confidence, described the ghostly visitant with so much attention to detail that it was impossible not to believe that she had seen her. According to Jane she was about her own age, which was nineteen.

'"But'l don't think she's F.nglish. said the girl. "'Why?'

'"Weil, she don't look like it. And I never saw anyone dressed in the way she is. Her hair, too, is done in a queer sort of style, like that in a picture I saw once in a show window. Frenchwomen, I was told they were, being taken to prison—ladies. And this girl looks like them. She seems to be in trouble, too. Her face is so sorrowful; and her eyes—l can't abear her to turn her eyes on me. They look so awful sad.' '"Oh, then, she looks at you, does she?' "'Well'—and the girl's answer was proof of her honesty—'l don't think she sees me, though her eyes do turn my way sometimes. lint it don't- make any difference in thrf look of them!' " 'She doesn't recognise your presence. as vcu do hers?' '"Xo.' "'When did you first see her?' " 'When I was duHin' the room, the fourth morning after 1 come here. She was sitting by the wi.idcr with her chin on her hand a-looking out. And I wondered that the- missus hadn't told me there was a lady in the room. 1 went on dusting, and when I was leaving the room I found she had gone. I said nothing to the missus thea, because i thought it wasn't my place. It /vas two days before I saw her again. She was standing up at the winder this time, waving of a, pocket handkerchief—like as if she was a-makin' signals to somebody outside—in the garden. When I come down, I told missus.' , " 'Have you ever seen her anywhere outside this room?—anywhere about the house?' "' 'Xo.'

" The girl must have been kept a prisoner here,'] said, turning lo Miss Fenner.

" 'Kver seen her in the room when 1 have been here?'

"'Yes. once: Ton wen; reading; and you lil'tfil your ho:\tl and looked straight at her. I was behind yoiij but she was over there, and it was over there you looked.' '1 nodded.. i remembered, the oc-

casion. '• 'And when was the last time you saw her';' " ■'Tim day before yesterday I ran out o: the room.' '■■\Vhys' "' 'She was standing up—over there 1 (kink she was—or—defying somebody. Then I saw her fall—thrown down. I'm sure slip screamed, for I saw her mouth

"'The girl's voice broke. Her eyes dilated, l'or some minutes 1 had seen thai she was on the verge of hysteria.

- 'There.' she cried. ' There she is ! Lvin« on the floor, Over aaainst the cupboard. She's dead! They've killed or— and they're going to hide her in the cupboard.' "The girls' luce was ghastly. Miss l-'i nner looked greatly distressed. Jane. half-conscious, was pointing to the wall. There was no cupboard there. The wall was panelled. "Tlie girl was in an hypnotic trance; and. leading her from fnc room, I placed her on a couch, and took the necessary steps to bring her round. "Troin my knowledge of such cases. I guessed 1 should not have long to wait for developments. 1 hadn't. " It was past midnight ; and 1 was sitting up reading 'Morey's llynotie Suggestion,' and- pondering betwee:' whiles over the gruesome vi.h.i: bv .lane

"flow far bach. 1 wondered, did the incident of which -he had lieeii a mental wltiifss date"; Wl.it had been the n-.01iv,. of -he crimev Who was the virli...? Who were the criminals V -.-'lUdcnly the dour opcr.el. and .fane hci'-eh' <_UJcd in. She was in her ni_rht attire, and a glance showed that she was fa,t a-dcep. 1 watched her lireath•■Without he.-itation she wali.ed over to the wall to which she had pointed dining the trying si die of a few hours before; and from her action I knew that siie was hying to open a door -he o„peeled to find there. After trying for .-ome time she wen! awav.

'•\e.\t morning I set to work". The wall, from the chimney opening to the window, [ found, had been covered with, match-hoarding panelled to match the rest of the room, the,object being to conceal a large double closet in'the wall. Cutting away a small portion of the false pannelling, we came upon the doors of the cupboard. After some trouble these were ouened. and inside w?,_ dis-

,-mercd a bundle of rag.-, a human skeleton, and (in emerald ring. "Ei |uiiic.- showed that tlic house had been purchased by a Trench Royalist family in 17SH, and occupied by them in lb-o—ii widow, whose husband, the .Marquis do Lianeourt, had fallen under the guillotine, his two sifters and a girl, his daughter, who was about fourteen when they came to England. 'When mademoiselle was about 18, however, she seems to have made an acquaintance with an English family in business in Clcrkenwcll, and then occupying Canonbury Place. This family was still in the ;anio neighborhood in ISfil.

"The gul's mother had died a short time before, and the acquaintance was very distasteful to her aunts. They cciild not forget they were members of the oldest, nobility of France. 'The eldest son of the War.ners, however, a handsome, 'ami rather di-:soli\te youth, contrived to carry on an intrigue with the girl. "Tile two old Frenchwomen lived a life of seclusion, making no friends, and being served by retainers they had brought from France. And it was not till the girl's lover, who had been denied access, had missed her from the window where she used to show herself conversing with him by means of signs, that any, enquiry was made. "Then it was explained that, finding mademoiselle was making undesirable acquaintances hi England, her relatives had sent her back to France.

"There can be no doubt," said Norwell, eonelfiding the story, "that she was murdered—probably strangled—by order of the grim old Frenchwoman whose ideas were feudal, and whose inhuman pride revolted -at the disgrace of a daughter of .the Lianeourts being united by marriage to the son of a London tradesman, even to save her name."