kids will, but no human eyes have ever seen that dagger since his death. It may have been stolen, or it may have gone back to where it came from into Robert of Montrose's stone kist in the old Chapter-House at St Andrews Cathedral. Probably its usefulness was at an end. and it was needed no more. Bob told me one queer thing about that dagger. Once a year near Christmastide (the dagger hung on the wall of his bedroom) it used to exude a thick reddish fluid like blood, which used to cover the blade in large drops, and it remained so for several hours—and, again, sometimes at night it used to shine with bright light of its own."
"That is indeed wonderful," I said, lighting another cheroot, "but tell me more about the St Andrews bogles. Astral bodies, dual personality, and things of that kind depress me a bit."
"Well, that is odd," said old Chester, "I love them. I was in St Andrews I rented a fine old house, with huge thick walls, big fireplaces, funny corkscrew stairs, such rum holes and corners, and big vaulted kitchens. It's all pulled down now, I believe, and a bran new house built; but I hear the vaulted rooms below are left exactly as they were. People didn't take to the old house; they heard noises and rappings, and saw things in the night, and so on. We all saw things. My brother met the ghost of a horrible looking old witch, quite in the orthodox dress, on the Witch Hill above the Witch Lake. It upset him terribly at the time—made him quite ill—nerves went all to pot—would not sleep in a room by himself after that. He made me devilish angry, sir, I can tell you."
"Perhaps it was Mother Alison Craik, a well-known witch, who was burnt there."
"Likely enough, sir, it may have been the old cat you mention, an old hag. Then my nephew and I saw that phantom coach in the Abbey Walk one windy moonlight night. It passed us very quickly, but made a deuced row, like a lifeboat carriage."
"What was it like?"
"Like a huge black box with windows in it, and a queer light inside. It reminded me of a great coffin. Ugly looking affair; very uncanny thing to meet at that time of night and in such a lonely spot. It was soon gone, but we heard its rumbling
