The King smiled and then sighed heavily.

“It’s about the Princess, my daughter,” said he; “she has not smiled for a whole year.”

“I’ll warrant I’d make her,” said John.

“I’ll warrant you could not,” said the King.  “She will never smile again until she is married.”

“Then,” answered John, “speaking in a humble way, as becomes me, why the dickens alive don’t you marry her up and get done with it?”

The King shook his head.

“There’s a condition attached,” said he.  “Maybe you have heard of the famous haunted house in Puns’nby Square?”

“I’ve always gone by the spelling, and pronounced it Ponsonby,” said John.

“Well, the condition is that every suitor for my daughter’s hand must spend a night alone in that house; and if he survives and is ready to persevere with his wooing, he must return a year later with his bride and spend the night of his marriage there.”

“And very handy,” said John, “for there’s a wedding-cake shop at the corner.”

The King sighed again.

“Unhappily, none survive.  One hundred and fifty-five have undertaken the adventure, and not a man of them but has either lost his wits or run for it.”

“Well,” said John, “I’ve been afraid of a great many men—­”

“That’s a poor confession for a soldier,” put in the King.

“—­when they all happened to come at me together.  But I’ve never yet met the ghost that could frighten me; and if your Majesty will give me the latch-key I’ll try my luck this very night.”

It could not be done in this free-and-easy way; but at eight o’clock, after John had visited the Palace and taken an oath in the Princess’s presence (which was his first sight of her), he was driven down to the house beside the Lord Chamberlain, who admitted him to the black front hall, and, slamming the door upon him, scuttled out of the porch as quickly as possible and into his brougham.

John struck a match, and as he did so heard the carriage roll away.  The walls were bare, and the floor and great staircase ahead of him carpetless.  As the match flickered out he caught a glimpse of a pair of feet moving up the stairs; that was all—­only feet.

“I’ll catch up with the calves on the landing, maybe,” said he; and, striking another match, he followed them up.

The feet turned aside on the landing and led him into a room on the right.  He paused on the threshold, drew a candle from his pocket, lit it, and stared about him.  The room was of great size, bare and dusty, with crimson hangings, gilt panels, and one huge gilt chandelier, from which and from the ceiling and cornice long cobwebs trailed down like creeping plants.  Beneath the chandelier a dark smear ran along the boards.  The feet crossed it towards the fireplace; and as they did so, John saw them stained with blood.  They reached the fire-place and vanished.