“We’re in luck, Roddy,” whispered Jim.  “Here’s one of the windows open.”

“Don’t you think we’ve gone far enough, Jim?” said I, with my teeth chattering.

“I’ll lift you in first.”

“No, no, I’ll not go first.”

“Then I will.”  He gripped the sill, and had his knee on it in an instant.  “Now, Roddy, give me your hands.”  With a pull he had me up beside him, and a moment later we were both in the haunted house.

How hollow it sounded when we jumped down on to the wooden floor!  There was such a sudden boom and reverberation that we both stood silent for a moment.  Then Jim burst out laughing.

“What an old drum of a place it is!” he cried; “we’ll strike a light, Roddy, and see where we are.”

He had brought a candle and a tinder-box in his pocket.  When the flame burned up, we saw an arched stone roof above our heads, and broad deal shelves all round us covered with dusty dishes.  It was the pantry.

“I’ll show you round,” said Jim, merrily; and, pushing the door open, he led the way into the hall.  I remember the high, oak-panelled walls, with the heads of deer jutting out, and a single white bust, which sent my heart into my mouth, in the corner.  Many rooms opened out of this, and we wandered from one to the other—­the kitchens, the still-room, the morning-room, the dining-room, all filled with the same choking smell of dust and of mildew.

“This is where they played the cards, Jim,” said I, in a hushed voice.  “It was on that very table.”

“Why, here are the cards themselves!” cried he; and he pulled a brown towel from something in the centre of the sideboard.  Sure enough it was a pile of playing-cards—­forty packs, I should think, at the least—­which had lain there ever since that tragic game which was played before I was born.

“I wonder whence that stair leads?” said Jim.

“Don’t go up there, Jim!” I cried, clutching at his arm.  “That must lead to the room of the murder.”

“How do you know that?”

“The vicar said that they saw on the ceiling—­Oh, Jim, you can see it even now!”

He held up his candle, and there was a great, dark smudge upon the white plaster above us.

“I believe you’re right,” said he; “but anyhow I’m going to have a look at it.”

“Don’t, Jim, don’t!” I cried.

“Tut, Roddy! you can stay here if you are afraid.  I won’t be more than a minute.  There’s no use going on a ghost hunt unless—­Great Lord, there’s something coming down the stairs!”

I heard it too—­a shuffling footstep in the room above, and then a creak from the steps, and then another creak, and another.  I saw Jim’s face as if it had been carved out of ivory, with his parted lips and his staring eyes fixed upon the black square of the stair opening.  He still held the light, but his fingers twitched, and with every twitch the shadows sprang from the walls to the ceiling.  As to myself, my knees gave way under me, and I found myself on the floor crouching down behind Jim, with a scream frozen in my throat.  And still the step came slowly from stair to stair.