The Vicar, while disclaiming any knowledge of cars, thought that this description fitted Colonel Ackerley. They had reached the Bell Inn by this time, and again refusing the offer of a lift the Vicar took his leave, and walked off briskly down the street.

When Charles and Peter reached the Priory it was nearly time for dinner,, and long shadows lay on the ground. They found the girls in the library with Mrs. Bosanquet, and were greeted by a cry of "Oh, here you are! We quite forgot to tell you to buy a couple of ordinary lamps to fix on to the wall."

"What, more lamps?" demanded Peter, who had a lively recollection of unpacking a positive crate of them. "Why on earth?"

"Well, we haven't got any for the landing upstairs," explained Celia, "and Bowers says he'd rather not go up without a light. Did you ever hear such rot? I told him to take a candle."

"To fell you the honest truth," confessed Margaret, "I don't awfully like going up in the dark myself:'

Charles cast up his eyes. "Already!" he said.

"It isn't that at all," Margaret said defiantly. "I mean, I'm not imagining ghosts or anything so idiotic, but it is a rambling place, and of course one does hear odd sorts of noises - yes, I know it's only rats, but at night one gets stupid, and fanciful, and anyway, there is a sort of feeling that - that one's being watched. I've had it before, in old houses."

"Have you really felt it here?" asked Celia, wide-eyed.

"Oh, it's nothing, Celia, but you know how it is when you go to Holyrood, or Hampton Court, or somewhere. There's a sort of atmosphere. I can't explain, but you know."

"Damp?" suggested Peter helpfully.

His sisters looked their scorn. "No, silly," said Margaret. "As though the spirits of all those dead and gone people were looking at one from the walls. That's a bit what I feel here."