A battle; some conflict with--there I
go again. It's on my nerves, I tell you, on my nerves. If this
keeps up I'll burn it."
It was a bit foreboding. Already I could feel the tugging at my
heart that had done for Watson. This man had watched my friend
slipping into the shadow; I had come to take his place.
"Watson has gone," I said simply; "and that's why I am here."
He straightened up.
"You know him then. He was not--"
"He went last night; he has left the country. He was in very poor
health. That's why I am here. I know very well the cloud that
hangs over the property; it is my sole reason for purchasing."
"You don't believe in this nonsense?"
I smiled. Certainly the man was perverse in his agnosticism; he
was stubborn in disbelief. It was on his nerves; on his
conscience; he was afraid.
"I believe nothing," I answered; "neither do I disbelieve. I know
all the story that has been told or written. I am a friend of
Watson. You need not scruple in making me out a bill of sale. It's
my own funeral. I abide by the consequences."
He gave a sigh of relief. After all, he was human. He had honour;
but it was after the brand of Pontius Pilate. He wished nothing on
his conscience.
Armed with the keys and the legal title, I took possession. In the
daylight it was much as it had been the night before. Once across
its threshold, one was in dank and furtive suppression; the air
was heavy; a mould of age had streaked the walls and gloomed the
shadows.
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