“‘Yes,’ I said.  ’Perhaps I do in a vague sort of way; but I don’t see how all this affects the room?’

“‘Like this,’ he said.  ’When I’d fixed it up with Miss Donnehue, I looked out for a place, and bought this little house shanty.  Afterward, I told her—­one evening during dinner, that I’d decided to tie up here.  And then she asked me whether I wasn’t afraid of the whistling room.  I told her it must have been thrown in gratis, as I’d heard nothing about it.  There were some of her men friends present, and I saw a smile go ’round.  I found out, after a bit of questioning, that several people have bought this place during the last twenty-odd years.  And it was always on the market again, after a trial.

“’Well, the chaps started to bait me a bit, and offered to take bets after dinner that I’d not stay six months in the place.  I looked once or twice to Miss Donnehue, so as to be sure I was “getting the note” of the talkee-talkee; but I could see that she didn’t take it as a joke, at all.  Partly, I think, because there was a bit of a sneer in the way the men were tackling me, and partly because she really believes there is something in this yarn of the Whistling Room.

“’However, after dinner, I did what I could to even things up with the others.  I nailed all their bets, and screwed them down hard and safe.  I guess some of them are going to be hard hit, unless I lose; which I don’t mean to.  Well, there you have practically the whole yarn.’

“‘Not quite,’ I told him.  ’All that I know, is that you have bought a castle with a room in it that is in some way “queer,” and that you’ve been doing some betting.  Also, I know that your servants have got frightened and run away.  Tell me something about the whistling?’

“‘Oh, that!’ said Tassoc; ’that started the second night we were in.  I’d had a good look ’round the room, in the daytime, as you can understand; for the talk up at Arlestrae—­Miss Donnehue’s place—­had made me wonder a bit.  But it seems just as usual as some of the other rooms in the old wing, only perhaps a bit more lonesome.  But that may be only because of the talk about it, you know.

“’The whistling started about ten o’clock, on the second night, as I said.  Tom and I were in the library, when we heard an awfully queer whistling, coming along the East Corridor—­The room is in the East Wing, you know.

“‘That’s that blessed ghost!’ I said to Tom, and we collared the lamps off the table, and went up to have a look.  I tell you, even as we dug along the corridor, it took me a bit in the throat, it was so beastly queer.  It was a sort of tune, in a way; but more as if a devil or some rotten thing were laughing at you, and going to get ’round at your back.  That’s how it makes you feel.

“’When we got to the door, we didn’t wait; but rushed it open; and then I tell you the sound of the thing fairly hit me in the face.  Tom said he got it the same way—­sort of felt stunned and bewildered.  We looked all ’round, and soon got so nervous, we just cleared out, and I locked the door.