“Not knowing what to make of it, as we had no animals of our own in the house, but concluding that a door or window having been left open, a dog and cat had got in from outside, I lit a candle, and opened the bedroom door.  Instantly the sounds ceased and there was dead silence, and although I searched everywhere, not a vestige of any animal was to be seen.  Moreover all the doors leading into the garden were shut and locked, and the windows closed.  Not wishing to frighten Delia, I laughingly assured her the cat—­a black Tom—­was all right, that it was sitting on the roof of the summer-house, looking none the worse for its treatment, and that I had sent the dog—­a terrier—­flying out of the gate with a well-deserved kick.  I explained it was my fault about the front door being left open—­my brain had been a bit overstrained through excessive work—­and asked her on no account to blame the servants.  I grow alarmed at times when I realize how easy lawyering makes lying.

“Friday, October 21st.—­On my way to bed last night I encountered a rush of icy cold air at the first bend of the staircase.  The candle flared up, a bright blue flame, and went out.  Something—­an animal of sorts—­came tearing down the stairs past me, and on peering over the banisters, I saw, looking up at me from the well of darkness beneath, two big red eyes, the counterparts of the one Dick and I had seen on October 11th.  I threw a matchbox at them, but without effect.  It was only when I switched on the electric light that they disappeared.  I searched the house most carefully, but there were no signs of any animal.  Joined Delia, feeling nervous and henpecky.

“Monday, November 7th.—­Tom and Mable came running into Delia’s room in a great state of excitement after tea to-day.  ‘Mother!’ they cried, ’Mother!  Do come!  Some horrid dog has got a cat in the spare room and is tearing it to pieces.’  Delia, who was mending my socks at the time, flung them anywhere, and springing to her feet, flew to the spare room.  The door was shut, but proceeding from within was the most appalling pandemonium of screeches and snarls, just as if some dog had got hold of a cat by the neck and was shaking it to death.  Delia swung open the door and rushed in.  The room was empty—­not a trace of a cat or dog anywhere—­and the sounds ceased!  On my return home Delia met me in the garden.  ‘Jack!’ she said, ’I have probed the mystery at last.  The house is haunted!  We must leave.’

“Saturday, November 12th.—­Sublet house to James Barstow, retired oil merchant, to-day.  He comes in on the 30th.  Hope he’ll like it!

“Tuesday, November 15th.—­Cook left to-day.  ’I’ve no fault to find with you, mum,’ she condescendingly explained to Delia.  ’It’s not you, nor the children, nor the food.  It’s the noises at night—­screeches outside my door, which sound like a cat, but which I know can’t be a cat, as there is no cat in the house.  This morning,