Never
mind. Allow a few days for the idea to sink in, and then call again.
It is a hundred to one that you will hear that strange manifestations
have been observed. After that it will be plain sailing. You will
continue to call, always supplying fresh suggestion, until at last,
thoroughly unnerved, the tenant will bolt, probably taking refuge in
a hotel. That will be your chance. Snatch the place up at once, and
there you are."
For the first time since he was demobilised, Higgins smiled.
"By Heavens!" he said, "I'll try it. There's a little place at Croydon
which would be a perfect billet. I will pay my first visit at once."
He sauntered away, proclaiming in song the satisfactory condition of
rose-culture in Picardy.
Yesterday he came back.
His face was grim. There was a light in his eye which I did not like.
He made no mention of roses blooming in Picardy or anywhere else.
"How is the scheme working?" I asked. "Have you called on the Croydon
gentleman?"
"I have," he answered; "and when I had laid the blessed ground-bait,
as you call it, he told me he always did think there was a ghost about
the place, and he was delighted to have his theory confirmed. He wants
more details now. He invites me to furnish evidence. What for, you
ask? Well, you see, he happens to be an active member of the Society
for Psychical Research."
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Polite Stranger (during the busy hour on the
Underground_).
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