THE WHISTLING ROOM

Carnacki shook a friendly fist at me as I entered, late.  Then he opened the door into the dining room, and ushered the four of us—­Jessop, Arkright, Taylor and myself—­in to dinner.

We dined well, as usual, and, equally as usual, Carnacki was pretty silent during the meal.  At the end, we took our wine and cigars to our usual positions, and Carnacki—­having got himself comfortable in his big chair—­began without any preliminary:—­

“I have just got back from Ireland, again,” he said.  “And I thought you chaps would be interested to hear my news.  Besides, I fancy I shall see the thing clearer, after I have told it all out straight.  I must tell you this, though, at the beginning—­up to the present moment, I have been utterly and completely ‘stumped.’  I have tumbled upon one of the most peculiar cases of ’haunting’—­or devilment of some sort—­that I have come against.  Now listen.

“I have been spending the last few weeks at Iastrae Castle, about twenty miles northeast of Galway.  I got a letter about a month ago from a Mr. Sid K. Tassoc, who it seemed had bought the place lately, and moved in, only to find that he had bought a very peculiar piece of property.

“When I got there, he met me at the station, driving a jaunting car, and drove me up to the castle, which, by the way, he called a ‘house shanty.’  I found that he was ‘pigging it’ there with his boy brother and another American, who seemed to be half-servant and half-companion.  It seems that all the servants had left the place, in a body, as you might say, and now they were managing among themselves, assisted by some day-help.

“The three of them got together a scratch feed, and Tassoc told me all about the trouble whilst we were at table.  It is most extraordinary, and different from anything that I have had to do with; though that Buzzing Case was very queer, too.

“Tassoc began right in the middle of his story.  ’We’ve got a room in this shanty,’ he said, ’which has got a most infernal whistling in it; sort of haunting it.  The thing starts any time; you never know when, and it goes on until it frightens you.  All the servants have gone, as you know.  It’s not ordinary whistling, and it isn’t the wind.  Wait till you hear it.’

“‘We’re all carrying guns,’ said the boy; and slapped his coat pocket.

“‘As bad as that?’ I said; and the older boy nodded.  ‘It may be soft,’ he replied; ’but wait till you’ve heard it.  Sometimes I think it’s some infernal thing, and the next moment, I’m just as sure that someone’s playing a trick on me.’

“‘Why?’ I asked.  ‘What is to be gained?’

“‘You mean,’ he said, ’that people usually have some good reason for playing tricks as elaborate as this.  Well, I’ll tell you.  There’s a lady in this province, by the name of Miss Donnehue, who’s going to be my wife, this day two months.  She’s more beautiful than they make them, and so far as I can see, I’ve just stuck my head into an Irish hornet’s nest.  There’s about a score of hot young Irishmen been courting her these two years gone, and now that I’m come along and cut them out, they feel raw against me.  Do you begin to understand the possibilities?’