Monica Deane received them. To her mother and Crockett they were represented as would be purchasers of the Red House which would account for their being taken all over the house and grounds. Tommy did not tell Monica of the conclusions he had come to, but he asked her various searching questions. Of the garments and personal belongings of the dead woman, some had been given to Crockett and the others sent to various poor families. Everything had been gone through and turned out.
“Did your aunt leave any papers?”
“The desk was full, and there were some in a drawer in her bedroom, but there was nothing of importance amongst them.”
“Have they been thrown away?”
“No, my mother is always very loath to throw away old papers. There were some old fashioned recipes among them which she intends to go through one day.”
“Good,” said Tommy approvingly. Then, indicating an old man who was at work upon one of the flower beds in the garden, he asked: “Was that old man the gardener here in your aunt’s time?”
“Yes, he used to come three days a week. He lives in the village. Poor old fellow, he is past doing any really useful work. We have him just once a week to keep things tidied up. We can’t afford more.”
Tommy winked at Tuppence to indicate that she was to keep Monica with her, and he himself stepped across to where the gardener was working. He spoke a few pleasant words to the old man, asked him if he had been there in the old lady’s time, and then said casually:
“You buried a box for her once, didn’t you?”
“No, sir, I never buried naught for her. What should she want to bury a box for?”
Tommy shook his head. He strolled back to the house frowning. It was to be hoped that a study of the old lady’s papers would yield some clue-otherwise the problem was a hard one to solve. The house itself was old fashioned, but not old enough to contain a secret room or passage.
Before leaving, Monica brought them down a big cardboard box, tied with string.
“I’ve collected all the papers,” she whispered. “And they’re in here. I thought you could take it away with you, and then you’ll have plenty of time to go over them-but I’m sure you won’t find anything to throw light on the mysterious happenings in this house-”
Her words were interrupted by a terrific crash overhead. Tommy ran quickly up the stairs. A jug and basin in one of the front rooms was lying on the ground broken to pieces. There was no one in the room.
“The ghost up to its tricks again,” he murmured with a grin.
He went down stairs again thoughtfully.
“I wonder, Miss Deane, if I might speak to the maid, Crockett, for a minute.”
“Certainly. I will ask her to come to you.”
Monica went off to the kitchen. She returned with the elderly maid who had opened the door to them earlier.
“We are thinking of buying this house,” said Tommy pleasantly, “and my wife was wondering whether, in that case, you would care to remain on with us?”
Crockett’s respectable face displayed no emotion of any kind.
“Thank you, sir,” she said. “I should like to think it over if I may.”
Tommy turned to Monica.
“I am delighted with the house, Miss Deane. I understand that there is another buyer in the market. I know what he has offered for the house, and I will willingly give a hundred more. And mind you, that is a good price I am offering.”
Monica murmured something noncommittal, and the Beresfords took their leave.
“I was right,” said Tommy, as they went down the drive. “Crockett’s in it. Did you notice that she was out of breath? That was from running down the back stairs after smashing the jug and basin. Sometimes, very likely, she has admitted her nephew secretly, and he has done a little poltergeisting, or whatever you call it, whilst she has been innocently with the family. You’ll see, Dr. O’Neill will make a further offer before the day is out.”