I could not help laughing at Simon’s story, in spite of my heavy heart, and so I asked him what the doctor said when he found vaccination a failure.

“Sent me off without a character, sur,” he replied grimly.  “Said he couldn’t keep a servant as would be a livin’ advertisement as ’ow his pet ’obby wer a failure.  And so I allays say as ’ow waccination is my ruin.  It’s ruined my blood and weakened my brain.  Still,” continued Simon, with a sly look, “I reckon as ’ow I’ll be a match for that ’ere doubly waccinated ghost as frightened me so.”

I could get nothing more from him.  He had formed some notion about the apparition which he would not divulge, so we devoted our attention to sport, and, after frightening a good many rabbits, we returned to the hall.

Nothing of importance happened through the day, except an inquiry which Tom made among the servants.  Each declared that they were entirely ignorant as to the appearance of the ghost, and all were evidently too frightened to doubt the truth of their statement.  Thus when evening came nothing was known of it.

Kaffar did not speak to me from the time I had seen him in the morning to dinner-time, and evidently avoided me.  Voltaire, on the contrary, was unusually bland and smiling.  He was pleasant and agreeable to every one, especially so to me.

After dinner we all found our way to the drawing-room, when the usual singing, flirting, and dancing programme was carried out.  Suddenly, however, there was comparative silence.  One voice only was heard, and that was the Egyptian’s.

“Yes,” he was saying, “I am what is called a superstitious man.  I believe in dreams, visions, and returned spirits of the dead.  But, ah!  I do not believe in made-up ghosts.  Oh, you cold-blooded English people, don’t mistake the impulsive Egyptian; don’t accuse him of lack of faith in the unseen.  So much do I believe in it, that sometimes I long to be with those who have gone.  But, bah! the ghost last night was to deceive, to frighten.  Got up by some villain for a purpose, and I can guess who he is.”

“This is serious,” said Tom Temple.  “I have inquired of the servants, who all assure me of their entire ignorance of the matter, and I cannot think that any of my guests would assume the person of the traditional ghost for no other purpose than to frighten the housekeeper and two or three servants.  I’m by no means superstitious, but I do not see how I can trace it to human origin.”

“I cannot see why any guest should assume the person of the traditional ghost, but some men have deep designing minds.  They are like clever draught-players; they see half-a-dozen moves ahead, and so do that which to a novice appears meaningless and absurd.”

Then I heard another voice, one that caused my heart to beat wildly.  It was Gertrude Forrest’s.  “Mr. Kaffar says he can guess who the person is who has personated this ghost,” she said; “I think it fair to every guest that he should speak out.”