a ghost and that the house was haunted.
Dallas was struggling for the second armhole of his dressing gown and
Bella had already turned on the lights. They said I had had a nightmare,
and not to sleep on my back, and perhaps I was taking grippe.

And just then we heard Jimmy run down the stairs, and fall over
something, almost breaking his wrist. It was the eiderdown comfort,
half-way up the studio staircase!

Chapter XIII. HE DOES NOT DENY IT

Aunt Selina got up the next morning and Jim told her all the strange
things that had been happening. She fixed on Flannigan, of course,
although she still suspected Betty of her watch and other valuables. The
incident of the comfort she called nervous indigestion and bad hours.

She spent the entire day going through the storeroom and linen closets,
and running her fingers over things for dust. Whenever she found any
she looked at me, drew a long breath, and said, "Poor James!" It was
maddening. And when she went through his clothes and found some buttons
off (Jim didn't keep a man, and Takahiro had stopped at his boots) she
looked at me quite awfully.

"His mother was a perfect housekeeper," she said. "James was brought up
in clothes with the buttons on, put on clean shelves."

"Didn't they put them on him?" I asked, almost hysterically. It had been
a bad morning, after a worse night. Every one had found fault with the
breakfast, and they straggled down one at a time until I was frantic.
Then Flannigan had talked to me about the pearls, and Mr. Harbison had
said, "Good morning," very stiffly, and nearly rattled the inside of the
furnace out.

Early in the morning, too, I overheard a scrap of conversation between
the policeman and our gentleman adventurer from South America. Something
had gone wrong with the telephone and Mr. Harbison was fussing over it
with a screw driver and a pair of scissors--all the tools he could find.
Flannigan was lifting rugs to shake them on the roof--Bella's order.

"Wash the table linen!" he was grumbling. "I'll do what I can that's
necessary. Grub has to be cooked, and dishes has to be washed--I'll
admit that. If you're particular, make up your bed every day; I don't
object. But don't tell me we have to use thirty-three table napkins
a day. What did folks do before napkins was invented? Tell me
that!"--triumphantly.

"What's the answer?" Mr. Harbison inquired absently, evidently with the
screw driver in his mouth.

"Used their pocket