“It’s all very well for you young gentlemen to have your fun,” he said indulgently; “but supposing as how you are all found dead in the morning, what about me?  It ain’t called the Toll-House for nothing, you know.”

“Who died there last?” inquired Barnes, with an air of polite derision.

“A tramp,” was the reply.  “He went there for the sake of half a crown, and they found him next morning hanging from the balusters, dead.”

“Suicide,” said Barnes.  “Unsound mind.”

The landlord nodded.  “That’s what the jury brought it in,” he said slowly; “but his mind was sound enough when he went in there.  I’d known him, off and on, for years.  I’m a poor man, but I wouldn’t spend the night in that house for a hundred pounds.”

[Illustration:  “I’m a poor man, but I wouldn’t spend the night in that house for a hundred pounds.”]

He repeated this remark as they started on their expedition a few hours later.  They left as the inn was closing for the night; bolts shot noisily behind them, and, as the regular customers trudged slowly homewards, they set off at a brisk pace in the direction of the house.  Most of the cottages were already in darkness, and lights in others went out as they passed.

“It seems rather hard that we have got to lose a night’s rest in order to convince Barnes of the existence of ghosts,” said White.

“It’s in a good cause,” said Meagle.  “A most worthy object; and something seems to tell me that we shall succeed.  You didn’t forget the candles, Lester?”

“I have brought two,” was the reply; “all the old man could spare.”

There was but little moon, and the night was cloudy.  The road between high hedges was dark, and in one place, where it ran through a wood, so black that they twice stumbled in the uneven ground at the side of it.

“Fancy leaving our comfortable beds for this!” said White again.  “Let me see; this desirable residential sepulchre lies to the right, doesn’t it?”

“Farther on,” said Meagle.

They walked on for some time in silence, broken only by White’s tribute to the softness, the cleanliness, and the comfort of the bed which was receding farther and farther into the distance.  Under Meagle’s guidance they turned oft at last to the right, and, after a walk of a quarter of a mile, saw the gates of the house before them.

[Illustration:  “They saw the gates of the house before them.”]

The lodge was almost hidden by overgrown shrubs and the drive was choked with rank growths.  Meagle leading, they pushed through it until the dark pile of the house loomed above them.

“There is a window at the back where we can get in, so the landlord says,” said Lester, as they stood before the hall door.

“Window?” said Meagle.  “Nonsense.  Let’s do the thing properly.  Where’s the knocker?”

He felt for it in the darkness and gave a thundering rat-tat-tat at the door.