The owner of the house whose shaded history I was now determined to learn was John Searles, a real estate agent.  To his office in Main Street I at once proceeded, not without doubts and much inward trepidation, but buoyed up by the assurance of Mayor Packard’s approval of any attempt, however far-fetched or unpromising, which held out the least possibility of relieving Mrs. Packard from her superstitious fears and restoring the peace and happiness of the household.  If only Mr. Searles should prove to be an approachable man!

I had never seen him or heard him spoken of, or I should not have encouraged myself with this hope.  At my first glimpse of his tall, gaunt figure, hard features, and brisk impatient movements, I knew that my wit and equanimity would be put to their full test in the interview.

He was engaged, at my entrance, in some harsh dispute with a couple of other men, but came forward quickly enough when he saw me.  Recognizing at once that any attempt at ingratiation would fail with this man, I entered at once upon my errand by asking a question direct enough to command his attention, if it did not insure the desired reply.

“Mr. Searles, when you purchased the house on Franklin Street, did you know enough about it to have an answer ready for any one who might declare it haunted?”

The abruptness of the attack produced its effect.  Annoyance swept every hint of patience from face and manner, and he exclaimed in a tone which conveyed, only too openly, how disagreeable the subject was to him.

“Again!”

I smiled.  It would not do to show how much I felt the total lack of sympathy in his manner.

“You will have trouble,” said I, “until it is proved that the occurrences which have provoked this report have a very natural and quite human source.”

He stopped in his nervous fidgeting and gave me a quick hard look.

“Who are you?” he asked, “and why has Mrs. Packard made you her messenger instead of coming herself?”

“I am her companion, engaged by Mayor Packard to stay with her during his contemplated absence.  I am here instead of Mrs. Packard because it is she herself who is the present sufferer from the disagreeable experiences which attend life in the Franklin Street house.”

“Mrs. Packard?” His tone betrayed a complete incredulity.  “Mrs. Packard? a woman of such strong good sense!  I think you must have been misled by some foolish attempt at humor on her part.  Does she know that you have come to me with this complaint?”

“She does not.  She is not in a condition to be consulted on the subject.  I am Mayor Packard’s emissary.  He is very anxious about his wife.”  Then as Mr. Searles continued unmoved, I added in a straightforward manner, and with all the earnestness I felt:  “Mrs. Packard believes herself to have come face to face with an undoubted specter in the library of the house they have rented from