"Ghosts?" suggested Fenton facetiously, and his untimely jest was received with a frown of impatience from Stannard.
"No," he returned, "I do not mean ghosts. I mean drains, defective plumbing, dampness, anything tending to insanitary condition. How long, may I ask, did the present owners occupy the house?"
A slight flush of embarrassment crossed the face of the agent. "As a matter of fact, sir, only two months. They appear to be a somewhat erratic family and decided quite suddenly to leave for Europe for a prolonged stay. They sail, I believe, in a few days."
"And the owner before that?"
"Lived to an advanced age upon his estate and died in a state of perfect health."
"Died in a state of perfect health!" echoed Fenton. "That is a bit unusual, is it not?"
"Fortunately, yes. The unhappy man committed suicide."
Stannard glanced up quickly, quite evidently displeased.
"Naturally," he commented, "there is always a certain prejudice against the scenes of such tragedies. The fact is. I am to be married next autumn and my fianceée, at present abroad, is of a peculiarly sensitive—"
The agent interrupted with a return of his sprightly self-confidence.
"The tragedy, my dear sir, did not take place on or near the estate of which we are speaking. It was a sad case, a very sad case; the old gentleman had an only son, and when news was brought to him of the boy's sudden and violent death under most disgraceful circumstances, it was too much for the father and he—"
"Yes?" questioned Stannard impatiently.
"Hanged himself."
Stannard considered.
"I am sorry," he said at last, "to have any association of tragedy connected with my home, yet, if as you say, the unfortunate man was away at the time, the association is not really very marked."
He glanced at Fenton, who nodded encouragement.
"Can't see that it need influence you in the least," Fenton asserted.
The real estate agent rose with cheerful alacrity.
"My car is at the door and I am completely at your service," said he.
It really was a wonderful old house! As the three men passed from room to room Stannard's satisfaction with his good fortune in procuring it became too intense for dissimulation. Fine old woodwork, spacious fireplaces, finely proportioned rooms and windows were everywhere in evidence. The paneling of the main hall and the sweep of the stairs was magnificent.
On the second floor the agent paused before a door, felt in his pocket for a key and presently disclosed a great room half filled with large, handsome pieces of old mahogany.
"The only articles of furniture which do not go with the house," he exclaimed. "Heirlooms, you know, and as their destination is a little uncertain, permission was given to allow them to remain here for the present. Of course, sir, if you have the slightest objection—"
Stannard had no objection. He was himself something of a collector and he regarded the pieces with an appreciative eye before he reluctantly followed the agent out and watched him lock the door.
When the inspection had been completed there remained only the question of setting the time at which the transaction should formally take place. The owner, it appeared, was somewhat in haste to have the matter concluded, and Stannard was as eager to come into possession of his property. And having nothing better to
