“Hush!” whispered Austin suddenly.

“What’s the matter?” exclaimed Aunt Charlotte, not liking to be interrupted.

“Listen!” said Austin, under his breath.

A torrent of raps burst out in the wall immediately behind him, plainly audible in the silence.  Then they stopped, as suddenly as they had begun.

“Did you hear them?” said Austin.  “Those were the raps I told you of.  Hark!  There they are again.  I wish they would sound a little louder.”  A distinct increase in the sound was noticeable.  “Oh, isn’t it perfectly wonderful?  Now, what have you to say?”

Aunt Charlotte stood agape.  It was no use pretending she didn’t hear them.  They were as unmistakable as knocks at a front door.

“What jugglery is this?” she demanded, in an angry tone.

“Really, dear auntie, I am not a conjurer,” replied Austin, as he sank back upon his cushions.  “That was what I heard last night.  But of course you don’t believe in such absurdities.  It’s only your fancy after all, you know.”

“’Tain’t my fancy, anyhow,” put in old Martha, speaking for the first time.  “I heard ’em plain enough.  ’Tis the ‘good people,’ for sure.”

“Hold your tongue, do!” cried Aunt Charlotte in sore perplexity.  “Good people, indeed!—­the devil himself, more likely.  I tell you what it is, Austin——­”

“Why, I thought you weren’t superstitious!” observed Austin, in a tone of most exasperating surprise.  Three gentle knocks, running off into a ripple of pattering explosions, were then heard in a farther corner of the room.  “There, don’t you hear them laughing at you?  Thank you, dear people, whoever you are, that was very kind.  And it was awfully sweet of you to save me from those bricks last night.  It was good of them, wasn’t it, auntie dear?”

“If all this devilry goes on I shall take serious measures to stop it,” gasped Aunt Charlotte, who was almost frightened to death.  “I cannot and will not live in a haunted house.  It’s you who are haunted, Austin, and I shall go and see the vicar about it this very day.  It’s an awful state of things, positively awful.  To think that you are actually holding communication with familiar spirits!  The vicar shall come here at once, and I’ll get him to hold a service of exorcism.  I believe there is such a service, and——­”

“Oh, do, do, do!” screamed Austin, clapping his hands with delight.  “What fun it would be!  Fancy dear Mr Sheepshanks, in all his tippets and toggery, ambling and capering round poor me, and trying to drive the devil out of me with a broomful of holy water!  That’s a lovely idea of yours, auntie.  Lubin shall come and be an acolyte, and we’ll get Mr Buskin to be stage-manager, and you shall be the pew-opener.  And then I’ll empty the holy-water pot over dear Mr Sheepshanks’ head when he’s looking the other way.  You are a genius, auntie, though you’re too modest to be conscious of it.  But you’re very ungrateful all the same, for if it hadn’t been for——­”