l you what I think you won't
let it go any farther?"

I at once gave him the promise he desired.

"Soon after Uncle Nicholas's visit," he began, "Mr. Denny came to stay
with us for three days, spending most of his time going through my
father's papers. My mother would be closeted with him for an hour at a
time. I could hear their voices talking together in low tones as I
passed the door; and when they came out there was always a worried,
anxious look on their faces. I had heard it mentioned that my father's
will and some other documents were missing; but hitherto Mr. Denny had
not treated the loss as a very serious thing, at all events as far as I
could gather. I don't think I should have troubled my head any more
about the matter, but for what I am going to describe. It was on the
last day of Mr. Denny's visit. I had gone to bed rather early, as I
was tired, and had been asleep some hours, when I was awakened by a
sound like a muffled knocking. I lay for a few minutes, thinking it
must have been my fancy; then the sound was repeated. The thought
occurred to me at once that it must be some one who had come to the
house for some reason or other, and was knocking at the back door to
try and waken one of the servants. I got up, leaned out of my window,
and called out, 'Who's there?' No reply was given, nor could I see any
one in the yard. Once more I thought my fancy had deceived me; then
_thump--thump--thump_! it came again. 'It must be some one at the
front door,' I thought; so I threw a coat over my shoulders and went
out of my room, down a passage, and across the landing to a window that
looks out on the front of the house. I opened it, and once more asked
who was there, but got no answer.

"The horses in the stables often make curious noises at night, but this
rapping was too regular to have been caused by them. I walked slowly
back, and just as I reached the middle of the landing it came again,
_knock--knock--knock_! I expect you'll think me a coward, but I must
own that a chill went all down my back. People say that Coverthorne is
haunted, and this strange rapping in the middle of the night, long
after every one else had gone to bed, reminded me of all the stories I
had often heard the servants telling each other round the kitchen fire.
If you'll believe me, I was more than half inclined to bolt for my room
and stick my head under the bedclothes. The sound came from somewhere
downstairs, and, as