"Yes!" he said, pumping his fist when he saw that The Death had fallen.

But Hailey said, "What happened to Sarkesian?"

Steven had told her in a single sentence about his rescue. She had guessed the rest, guessed what had happened to Sarkesian as a result of their encounter in the theater. Tender soul that she was, she felt bad for the thug. She felt any injuries he might have suffered were in part her responsibility.

She came out of her apartment into the hall.

"Sis! Sis!" Steven hissed after her, frantically waving her back.

But she kept moving forward cautiously until she reached the stairway. She saw the trail of blood on the risers. With a soft cry of distress, she started down the stairs.

She found Sarkesian lying on his back in front of the building, his blood running out into the snow. The partygoers in the Mysterious Bookshop had poured out of the store to investigate the noise and now stood gathered around him. The sound of sirens was growing louder as the police drew near. The bookshop door was propped open so that "Silent Night" drifted through the window into the air.

No one came near Sarkesian. He lay alone in the center of the crowd. He blinked up at the falling snow, his breathing labored.

Then Hailey came toward him, her long white flannel nightgown trailing behind her. Many people saw and heard what happened next. Many of them talked about it to the journalists who soon flooded the scene. And yet it was never reported in a single newspaper, never mentioned on radio or television even once. This is the first time it's ever been told.

Hailey knelt down in the snow beside Sarkesian. She leaned over him. He stirred, turning his eyes toward her. He tried to speak. He couldn't. He licked his lips and tried again.

"I see ..." he whispered hoa.r.s.ely. "I see an angel."

"Oh, Sarkesian," said Hailey miserably. "I'm really not."

Sarkesian blinked slowly and shook his head. "No," he whispered. "There." And with a terrible effort, he lifted his enormous hand and pointed over her shoulder at the sky.

Then his hand dropped back into the snow and he was dead.

THE GHOST'S TOUCH.

Fergus Hume.

ALTHOUGH CHARLES d.i.c.kENS AND WILKIE COLLINS wrote mystery fiction, their books were not identified as being part of the genre, either by publishers, booksellers, or reviewers. It then falls to Fergus Hume to have the honor of writing the bestselling mystery novel, so described, of the nineteenth century, The Mystery of a Hansom Cab (1886). He paid to have it published but it quickly became successful and he sold all rights to a group of English investors for fifty pounds sterling. It went on to sell more than a half-million copies. Hume wrote an additional one hundred thirty novels-all of which have been completely forgotten. "The Ghost's Touch" was first published in the author's short story collection, The Dancer in Red (London, Digby, 1906).

The Ghost's Touch.

FERGUS HUME.

I SHALL NEVER FORGET THE TERRIBLE Christmas I spent at Ringshaw Grange in the year '93. As an army doctor I have met with strange adventures in far lands, and have seen some gruesome sights in the little wars which are constantly being waged on the frontiers of our empire; but it was reserved for an old country house in Hants to be the scene of the most noteworthy episode in my life. The experience was a painful one, and I hope it may never be repeated; but indeed so ghastly an event is not likely to occur again. If my story reads more like fiction than truth, I can only quote the well-worn saying, of the latter being stranger than the former. Many a time in my wandering life have I proved the truth of this proverb.

The whole affair rose out of the invitation which Frank Ringan sent me to spend Christmas with himself and his cousin Percy at the family seat near Christchurch. At that time I was home on leave from India; and shortly after my arrival I chanced to meet with Percy Ringan in Piccadilly. He was an Australian with whom I had been intimate some years before in Melbourne: a dapper little man with sleek fair hair and a transparent complexion, looking as fragile as a Dresden china image, yet with plenty of pluck and spirits. He suffered from heart disease, and was liable to faint on occasions; yet he fought against his mortal weakness with silent courage, and with certain precautions against over-excitement, he managed to enjoy life fairly well.

Notwithstanding his p.r.o.nounced effeminacy, and somewhat truckling subserviency to rank and high birth, I liked the little man very well for his many good qualities. On the present occasion I was glad to see him, and expressed my pleasure.

"Although I did not expect to see you in England," said I, after the first greetings had pa.s.sed.

"I have been in London these nine months, my dear Lascelles," he said, in his usual mincing way, "partly by way of a change and partly to see my cousin Frank-who indeed invited me to come over from Australia."

"Is that the rich cousin you were always speaking about in Melbourne?"

"Yes. But Frank is not rich. I am the wealthy Ringan, but he is the head of the family. You see, Doctor," continued Percy, taking my arm and pursuing the subject in a conversational manner, "my father, being a younger son, emigrated to Melbourne in the gold-digging days, and made his fortune out there. His brother remained at home on the estates, with very little money to keep up the dignity of the family; so my father helped the head of his house from time to time. Five years ago both my uncle and father died, leaving Frank and me as heirs, the one to the family estate, the other to the Australian wealth. So-"

"So you a.s.sist your cousin to keep up the dignity of the family as your father did before you."

"Well, yes, I do," admitted Percy, frankly. "You see, we Ringans think a great deal of our birth and position. So much so, that we have made our wills in one another's favour."

"How do you mean?"

"Well, if I die Frank inherits my money; and if he dies, I become heir to the Ringan estates. It seems strange that I should tell you all this, Lascelles; but you were so intimate with me in the old days that you can understand my apparent rashness."

I could not forbear a chuckle at the reason a.s.signed by Percy for his confidence, especially as it was such a weak one. The little man had a tongue like a town-crier, and could no more keep his private affairs to himself than a woman could guard a secret. Besides, I saw very well that with his inherent sn.o.bbishness he desired to impress me with the position and antiquity of his family, and with the fact-undoubtedly true-that it ranked amongst the landed gentry of the kingdom.

However, the weakness, though in bad taste, was harmless enough, and I had no scorn for the confession of it. Still, I felt a trifle bored, as I took little interest in the chronicling of such small beer, and shortly parted from Percy after promising to dine with him the following week.

At this dinner, which took place at the Athenian Club, I met with the head of the Ringan family; or, to put it plainer, with Percy's cousin Frank. Like the Australian he was small and neat, but enjoyed much better health and lacked the effeminacy of the other. Yet on the whole I liked Percy the best, as there was a sly cast about Frank's countenance which I did not relish; and he patronized his colonial cousin in rather an offensive manner.

The latter looked up to his English kinsman with all deference, and would, I am sure, have willingly given his gold to regild the somewhat tarnished escutcheon of the Ringans. Outwardly, the two cousins were so alike as to remind one of Tweedledum and Tweedledee; but after due consideration I decided that Percy was the better-natured and more honourable of the two.

For some reason Frank Ringan seemed desirous of cultivating my acquaintance; and in one way and another I saw a good deal of him during my stay in London. Finally, when I was departing on a visit to some relatives in Norfolk he invited me to spend Christmas at Ringshaw Grange-not, as it afterwards appeared, without an ulterior motive.

"I can take no refusal," said he, with a heartiness which sat ill on him. "Percy, as an old friend of yours, has set his heart on my having you down; and-if I may say so-I have set my heart on the same thing."

"Oh, you really must come, Lascelles," cried Percy, eagerly. "We are going to keep Christmas in the real old English fashion. Washington Irving's style, you know: holly, wa.s.sail-bowl, games, and mistletoe."

"And perhaps a ghost or so," finished Frank, laughing, yet with a side glance at his eager little cousin.

"Ah," said I. "So your Grange is haunted."

"I should think so," said Percy, before his cousin could speak, "and with a good old Queen Anne ghost. Come down, Doctor, and Frank shall put you in the haunted chamber."

"No!" cried Frank, with a sharpness which rather surprised me, "I'll put no one in the Blue Room; the consequences might be fatal. You smile, Lascelles, but I a.s.sure you our ghost has been proved to exist!"

"That's a paradox; a ghost can't exist. But the story of your ghost-"

"Is too long to tell now," said Frank, laughing. "Come down to the Grange and you'll hear it."

"Very good," I replied, rather attracted by the idea of a haunted house, "you can count upon me for Christmas. But I warn you, Ringan, that I don't believe in spirits. Ghosts went out with gas."

"Then they must have come in again with electric light," retorted Frank Ringan, "for Lady Joan undoubtedly haunts the Grange. I don't mind as it adds distinction to the house."

"All old families have a ghost," said Percy, importantly. "It is very natural when one has ancestors."

There was no more said on the subject for the time being, but the upshot of this conversation was that I presented myself at Ringshaw Grange two or three days before Christmas. To speak the truth, I came more on Percy's account than my own, as I knew the little man suffered from heart disease, and a sudden shock might prove fatal. If, in the unhealthy atmosphere of an old house, the inmates got talking of ghosts and goblins, it might be that the consequences would be dangerous to so highly strung and delicate a man as Percy Ringan.

For this reason, joined to a sneaking desire to see the ghost, I found myself a guest at Ringshaw Grange. In one way I regret the visit; yet in another I regard it as providential that I was on the spot. Had I been absent the catastrophe might have been greater, although it could scarcely have been more terrible.

Ringshaw Grange was a quaint Elizabethan house, all gables and diamond cas.e.m.e.nts, and oriel windows, and quaint terraces, looking like an ill.u.s.tration out of an old Christmas number. It was embowered in a large park, the trees of which came up almost to the doors, and when I saw it first in the moonlight-for it was by a late train that I came from London-it struck me as the very place for a ghost.

Here was a haunted house of the right quality if ever there was one, and I only hoped when I crossed the threshold that the local spectre would be worthy of its environment. In such an interesting house I did not think to pa.s.s a dull Christmas; but-G.o.d help me-I did not antic.i.p.ate so tragic a Yuletide as I spent.

As our host was a bachelor and had no female relative to do the honours of his house the guests were all of the masculine gender. It is true that there was a housekeeper-a distant cousin, I understood-who was rather elderly but very juvenile as to dress and manner. She went by the name of Miss Laura, but no one saw much of her as, otherwise than attending to her duties, she remained mostly in her own rooms.

So our party was composed of young men-none save myself being over the age of thirty, and few being gifted with much intelligence. The talk was mostly of sport, of horse-racing, big game shooting, and yacht-sailing: so that I grew tired at times of these subjects and retired to the library to read and write. The day after I arrived Frank showed me over the house.

It was a wonderful old barrack of a place, with broad pa.s.sages, twisting interminably like the labyrinth of Daedalus; small bedrooms furnished in an old-fashioned manner; and vast reception apartments with polished floors and painted ceilings. Also there were the customary number of family portraits frowning from the walls; suits of tarnished armour; and ancient tapestries embroidered with grim and ghastly legends of the past.

The old house was crammed with treasures, rare enough to drive an antiquarian crazy; and filled with the flotsam and jetsam of many centuries, mellowed by time into one soft hue, which put them all in keeping with one another. I must say that I was charmed with Ringshaw Grange, and no longer wondered at the pride taken by Percy Ringan in his family and their past glories.

"That's all very well," said Frank, to whom I remarked as much; "Percy is rich, and had he this place could keep it up in proper style; but I am as poor as a rat, and unless I can make a rich marriage, or inherit a comfortable legacy, house and furniture, park and timber may all come to the hammer."

He looked gloomy as he spoke; and, feeling that I had touched on a somewhat delicate matter, I hastened to change the subject, by asking to be shown the famous Blue Chamber, which was said to be haunted. This was the true Mecca of my pilgrimage into Hants.

"It is along this pa.s.sage," said Frank, leading the way, "and not very far from your own quarters. There is nothing in its looks likely to hint at the ghost-at all events by day-but it is haunted for all that."

Thus speaking he led me into a large room with a low ceiling, and a broad cas.e.m.e.nt looking out onto the untrimmed park, where the woodland was most sylvan. The walls were hung with blue cloth embroidered with grotesque figures in black braid or thread, I know not which. There was a large old-fashioned bed with tester and figured curtains and a quant.i.ty of c.u.mbersome furniture of the early Georgian epoch. Not having been inhabited for many years the room had a desolate and silent look-if one may use such an expression-and to my mind looked gruesome enough to conjure up a battalion of ghosts, let alone one.

"I don't agree with you!" said I, in reply to my host's remark. "To my mind this is the very model of a haunted chamber. What is the legend?"

"I'll tell it to you on Christmas Eve," replied Ringan, as we left the room. "It is rather a blood-curdling tale."

"Do you believe it?" said I, struck by the solemn air of the speaker.

"I have had evidence to make me credulous," he replied dryly, and closed the subject for the time being.

It was renewed on Christmas Eve when all our company were gathered round a huge wood fire in the library. Outside, the snow lay thick on the ground, and the gaunt trees stood up black and leafless out of the white expanse. The sky was of a frosty blue with sharply twinkling stars, and a hard-looking moon. On the snow the shadows of interlacing boughs were traced blackly as in Indian ink, and the cold was of Arctic severity.

But seated in the holly-decked apartment before a n.o.ble fire which roared bravely up the wide chimney we cared nothing for the frozen world out of doors. We laughed and talked, sang songs and recalled adventures, until somewhere about ten o'clock we fell into a ghostly vein quite in keeping with the goblin-haunted season. It was then that Frank Ringan was called upon to chill our blood with his local legend. This he did without much pressing.

"In the reign of the good Queen Anne," said he, with a gravity befitting the subject, "my ancestor Hugh Ringan was the owner of this house. He was a silent misanthropic man, having been soured early in life by the treachery of a woman. Mistrusting the s.e.x he refused to marry for many years; and it was not until he was fifty years of age that he was beguiled by the arts of a pretty girl into the toils of matrimony. The lady was Joan Challoner, the daughter of the Earl of Branscourt; and she was esteemed one of the beauties of Queen Anne's court.

"It was in London that Hugh met her, and thinking from her innocent and child-like appearance that she would make him a true-hearted wife, he married her after a six months' courtship and brought her with all honour to Ringshaw Grange. After his marriage he became more cheerful and less distrustful of his fellow-creatures. Lady Joan was all to him that a wife could be, and seemed devoted to her husband and child-for she early became a mother-when one Christmas Eve all this happiness came to an end."

"Oh!" said I, rather cynically. "So Lady Joan proved to be no better than the rest of her s.e.x."

"So Hugh Ringan thought, Doctor; but he was as mistaken as you are. Lady Joan occupied the Blue Room, which I showed you the other day; and on Christmas Eve, when riding home late, Hugh saw a man descend from the window. Thunderstruck by the sight, he galloped after the man and caught him before he could mount a horse which was waiting for him. The cavalier was a handsome young fellow of twenty-five, who refused to answer Hugh's questions. Thinking, naturally enough, that he had to do with a lover of his wife's, Hugh fought a duel with the stranger and killed him after a hard fight.

"Leaving him dead on the snow he rode back to the Grange, and burst in on his wife to accuse her of perfidy. It was in vain that Lady Joan tried to defend herself by stating that the visitor was her brother, who was engaged in plots for the restoration of James II, and on that account wished to keep secret the fact of his presence in England. Hugh did not believe her, and told her plainly that he had killed her lover; whereupon Lady Joan burst out into a volley of reproaches and cursed her husband. Furious at what he deemed was her boldness Hugh at first attempted to kill her, but not thinking the punishment sufficient, he cut off her right hand."

"Why?" asked everyone, quite unprepared for this information.

"Because in the first place Lady Joan was very proud of her beautiful white hands, and in the second Hugh had seen the stranger kiss her hand-her right hand-before he descended from the window. For these reasons he mutilated her thus terribly."

"And she died."

"Yes, a week after her hand was cut off. And she swore that she would come back to touch all those in the Blue Room-that is who slept in it-who were foredoomed to death. She kept her promise, for many people who have slept in that fatal room have been touched by the dead hand of Lady Joan, and have subsequently died."

"Did Hugh find out that his wife was innocent?"

"He did," replied Ringan, "and within a month after her death. The stranger was really her brother, plotting for James II, as she had stated. Hugh was not punished by man for his crime, but within a year he slept in the Blue Chamber and was found dead next morning with the mark of three fingers on his right wrist. It was thought that in his remorse he had courted death by sleeping in the room cursed by his wife."

"And there was a mark on him?"

"On his right wrist red marks like a burn; the impression of three fingers. Since that time the room has been haunted."

"Does everyone who sleeps in it die?" I asked.

"No. Many people have risen well and hearty in the morning. Only those who are doomed to an early death are thus touched!"

"When did the last case occur?"

"Three years ago" was Frank's unexpected reply. "A friend of mine called Herbert Spencer would sleep in that room. He saw the ghost and was touched. He showed me the marks next morning-three red finger marks."

"Did the omen hold good?"

"Yes. Spencer died three months afterwards. He was thrown from his horse."

I was about to put further questions in a sceptical vein, when we heard shouts outside, and we all sprang to our feet as the door was thrown open to admit Miss Laura in a state of excitement.

"Fire! Fire!" she cried, almost distracted. "Oh! Mr. Ringan," addressing herself to Percy, "your room is on fire! I-"

We waited to hear no more, but in a body rushed up to Percy's room. Volumes of smoke were rolling out of the door, and flames were flashing within. Frank Ringan, however, was prompt and cool-headed. He had the alarm bell rung, summoned the servants, grooms, and stable hands, and in twenty minutes the fire was extinguished.

On asking how the fire had started, Miss Laura, with much hysterical sobbing, stated that she had gone into Percy's room to see that all was ready and comfortable for the night. Unfortunately the wind wafted one of the bed-curtains towards the candle she was carrying, and in a moment the room was in a blaze. After pacifying Miss Laura, who could not help the accident, Frank turned to his cousin. By this time we were back again in the library.

"My dear fellow," he said, "your room is swimming in water, and is charred with fire. I'm afraid you can't stay there tonight; but I don't know where to put you unless you take the Blue Room."

"The Blue Room!" we all cried. "What! The haunted chamber?"

"Yes; all the other rooms are full. Still, if Percy is afraid-"

"Afraid!" cried Percy indignantly. "I'm not afraid at all. I'll sleep in the Blue Room with the greatest of pleasure."

"But the ghost-"

"I don't care for the ghost," interrupted the Australian, with a nervous laugh. "We have no ghosts in our part of the world, and as I have not seen one, I do not believe there is such a thing."

We all tried to dissuade him from sleeping in the haunted room, and several of us offered to give up our apartments for the night-Frank among the number. But Percy's dignity was touched, and he was resolute to keep his word. He had plenty of pluck, as I said before, and the fancy that we might think him a coward spurred him on to resist our entreaties.

The end of it was that shortly before midnight he went off to the Blue Room, and declared his intention of sleeping in it. There was nothing more to be said in the face of such obstinacy, so one by one we retired, quite unaware of the events to happen before the morning. So on that Christmas Eve the Blue Room had an unexpected tenant.

On going to my bedroom I could not sleep. The tale told by Frank Ringan haunted my fancy, and the idea of Percy sleeping in that ill-omened room made me nervous. I did not believe in ghosts myself, nor, so far as I knew, did Percy, but the little man suffered from heart disease-he was strung up to a high nervous pitch by our ghost stories-and if anything out of the common-even from natural causes-happened in that room, the shock might be fatal to its occupant.

I knew well enough that Percy, out of pride, would refuse to give up the room, yet I was determined that he should not sleep in it; so, failing persuasion, I employed stratagem. I had my medicine chest with me, and taking it from my portmanteau I prepared a powerful narcotic. I left this on the table and went along to the Blue Room, which, as I have said before, was not very far from mine.