Wilkes looked at him. "Ben Tillman couldn't have vanished, sir. And that's what the Monk did. Just disappeared. You may say I imagined it, but all I know is I wouldn't do what I did that night again, not for a thousand pounds."

There was a slight pause. The man by the window got up and strolled out of the taproom. Peter set his tankard down. "Well, thanks very much," he said. "Cheery little story."

Charles had been watching the thin stranger. "Who's our departed friend?" he inquired.

"Commercial, Sir. He's working the places round here with some sort of a vacuum-cleaner, so I understand, and doing a bit of fishing in between-whiles."

"Seemed to be interested in ghosts," was all Charles said.

But when he and Peter had left the Bell Inn, Peter asked abruptly: "What did you mean by that, Chas? Did you think the fellow was listening to us?"

"Didn't you?" Charles said.

"Well, yes, but I don't know that that was altogether surprising."

"No. But he didn't seem to want us to notice his interest, did he? Where's this grocer we're looking for?"

At the grocer's, which turned out to be also the post office and linen-draper, after the manner of village shops, the two men were accosted by a gentleman in clerical attire, who was buying stamps. He introduced himself as the Vicar, and told them that he and his wife were only waiting until the newcomers had had time to settle into the Priory before they paid a call on them.

"One is glad to see the Priory occupied once more," he said. "Alas, too many of our old houses are spurned nowadays for lack of "modern conveniences."'

"We were rather under the impression, sir, that this particular house has been spurned on account of ghosts,"

Peter said.

The Vicar smiled. "Ah, I fear you must seek confirmation of that story from one more credulous than my poor self," he announced. "Such tales, I find, invariably spring up round deserted houses. I venture to prophesy that the Priory ghost proves itself to be nothing more harmful than a mouse, or perhaps a rat."