"This is a curious yarn that I am going to tell you," said Carnacki, as after a quiet little dinner we made ourselves comfortable in his cosy dining room.
"I have just got back from the West of Ireland," he continued. "Wentworth, a friend of mine, has lately had rather an unexpected legacy, in the shape of a large estate and manor, about a mile and a half outside of the village of Korunton. This place is named Gannington Manor, and has been empty a great number of years; as you will find is almost always the case with Houses reputed to be haunted, as it is usually termed.
"It seems that when Wentworth went over to take possession, he found the
place in very poor repair, and the estate totally uncared for, and, as I
know, looking very desolate and lonesome generally. He went through the
big house by himself, and he admitted to me that it had an uncomfortable
feeling about it; but, of course, that might be nothing more than the
natural dismalness of a big, empty house, which has been long
uninhabited, and through which you are wandering alone.
"When he had finished his look round, he went down to the village, meaning to see the one-time Agent of the Estate, and arrange for someone to go in as caretaker. The Agent, who proved by the way to be a Scotchman, was very willing to take up the management of the Estate once more; but he assured Wentworth that they would get no one to go in as caretaker; and that his—the Agent's—advice was to have the house pulled down, and a new one built.
"This, naturally, astonished my friend, and, as they went down to the
village, he managed to get a sort of explanation from the man. It seems
that there had been always curious stories told about the place, which in
the early days was called Landru Castle, and that within the last seven
years there had been two extraordinary deaths there. In each case they
had been tramps, who were ignorant of the reputation of the house, and
had probably thought the big empty place suitable for a night's free
lodging. There had been absolutely no signs of violence to indicate the
method by which death was caused, and on each occasion the body had been
found in the great entrance hall.
"By this time they had reached the inn where Wentworth had put up, and he
told the Agent that he would prove that it was all rubbish about the
haunting, by staying a night or two in the Manor himself. The death of
the tramps was certainly curious; but did not prove that any supernatural
agency had been at work. They were but isolated accidents, spread over a
large number of years by the memory of the villagers, which was natural
enough in a little place like Korunton. Tramps had to die some time, and
in some place, and it proved nothing that two, out of possibly hundreds
who had slept in the empty house, had happened to take the opportunity
to die under shelter.
"But the Agent took his remark very seriously, and both he and Dennis the
landlord of the inn, tried their best to persuade him not to go. For his
'sowl's sake,' Irish Dennis begged him to do no such thing; and because
of his 'life's sake,' the Scotchman was equally in earnest.
"It was late afternoon at the time, and as Wentworth told me, it was warm
and bright, and it seemed such utter rot to hear those two talking
seriously about the impossible. He felt full of pluck, and he made up his
mind he would smash the story of the haunting, at once by staying that
very night, in the Manor. He made this quite clear to them, and told them
that it would be more to the point and to their credit, if they offered
to come up along with him, and keep him company. But poor old Dennis was
quite shocked, I believe, at the suggestion; and though Tabbit, the
Agent, took it more quietly, he was very solemn about it.
"It seems that Wentworth did go; and though, as he said to me, when
the evening began to come on, it seemed a very different sort of thing
to tackle.