azards until the time was up. Her amiable
smile began to harden a little as she probed her way tenderly into Mrs.
Wragge's feeble mind.

"You have some unpleasant remembrances of Vauxhall Walk?" she said, with
the gentlest possible tone of inquiry in her voice. "Or perhaps I should
say, unpleasant remembrances of that dress belonging to your niece?"

"The last time I saw her with that gown on," said Mrs. Wragge, dropping
into a chair and beginning to tremble, "was the time when I came back
from shopping and saw the Ghost."

"The Ghost?" repeated Mrs. Lecount, clasping her hands in graceful
astonishment. "Dear madam, pardon me! Is there such a thing in the
world? Where did you see it? In Vauxhall Walk? Tell me--you are the
first lady I ever met with who has seen a ghost--pray tell me!"

Flattered by the position of importance which she had suddenly assumed
in the housekeeper's eyes, Mrs. Wragge entered at full length into the
narrative of her supernatural adventure. The breathless eagerness with
which Mrs. Lecount listened to her description of the specter's costume,
the specter's hurry on the stairs, and the specter's disappearance in
the bedroom; the extraordinary interest which Mrs. Lecount displayed
on hearing that the dress in the wardrobe was the very dress in which
Magdalen happened to be attired at the awful moment when the ghost
vanished, encouraged Mrs. Wragge to wade deeper and deeper into details,
and to involve herself in a confusion of collateral circumstances out of
which there seemed to be no prospect of her emerging for hours to come.
Faster and faster the inexorable minutes flew by; nearer and nearer came
the fatal moment of Mr. Bygrave's return. Mrs. Lecount looked at her
watch for the third time, without an attempt on this occasion to conceal
the action from her companion's notice. There were literally two minutes
left for her to get clear of North Shingles. Two minutes would be
enough, if no accident happened. She had discovered the Alpaca dress;
she had heard the whole story of the adventure in Vauxhall Walk; and,
more than that, she had even informed herself of the number of the
house--which Mrs. Wragge happened to remember, because it answered
to the number of years in her own age. All that was necessary to her
master's complete enlightenment she had now accomplished. Even if there
had been time to stay longer, there was nothing worth staying for.
"I'll strike this worthy idiot dumb with a _cou