ndly fist at me as I entered, late. Then he opened
the door into the dining room, and ushered the four of us--Jessop,
Arkright, Taylor and myself--in to dinner.

We dined well, as usual, and, equally as usual, Carnacki was pretty
silent during the meal. At the end, we took our wine and cigars to our
usual positions, and Carnacki--having got himself comfortable in his big
chair--began without any preliminary:--

"I have just got back from Ireland, again," he said. "And I thought you
chaps would be interested to hear my news. Besides, I fancy I shall see
the thing clearer, after I have told it all out straight. I must tell you
this, though, at the beginning--up to the present moment, I have been
utterly and completely 'stumped.' I have tumbled upon one of the most
peculiar cases of 'haunting'--or devilment of some sort--that I have come
against. Now listen.

"I have been spending the last few weeks at Iastrae Castle, about twenty
miles northeast of Galway. I got a letter about a month ago from a Mr.
Sid K. Tassoc, who it seemed had bought the place lately, and moved in,
only to find that he had bought a very peculiar piece of property.

"When I got there, he met me at the station, driving a jaunting car, and
drove me up to the castle, which, by the way, he called a 'house shanty.'
I found that he was 'pigging it' there with his boy brother and another
American, who seemed to be half-servant and half-companion. It seems that
all the servants had left the place, in a body, as you might say, and now
they were managing among themselves, assisted by some day-help.

"The three of them got together a scratch feed, and Tassoc told me all
about the trouble whilst we were at table. It is most extraordinary, and
different from anything that I have had to do with; though that Buzzing
Case was very queer, too.

"Tassoc began right in the middle of his story. 'We've got a room in this
shanty,' he said, 'which has got a most infernal whistling in it; sort of
haunting it. The thing starts any time; you never know when, and it goes
on until it frightens you. All the servants have gone, as you know. It's
not ordinary whistling, and it isn't the wind. Wait till you hear it.'

"'We're all carrying guns,' said the boy; and slapped his coat pocket.

"'As bad as that?' I said; and the older boy nodded. 'It may be soft,' he
replied; 'but wait till you've heard it. Sometimes I think it's some
infernal thing, and the next moment, I'm just a