his energies to the interpretation of the
strange hieroglyphics. With an acuteness
that would have done honour to the reader
of a roll of papyrus, he at last succeeded in
eliciting the facts that one "Marget Stubs"
had defrauded one "Jhon Joanes" of moneys
to the amount of one thousand pounds, and,
oscillating between uneasiness at the thought
of possessing ill-gotten treasure and
unwillingness to part with a sum so considerable,
had hidden the latter beneath a stone in the
coal-cellar. The operations of conscience had
likewise prompted Marget to draw up a
written confession of her guilt, and to place it
where, in all human probability, it would
never be found. The thought that after
death she would wander about as an ugly
ghost, and, with her own hand, indicate the
spot where the paper was concealed, had
clearly never entered the mind of Marget
Stubs.

"Madam——!" said Samson Brown, "eh?
O! you are there, are you?" he continued,
observing that the ghost had shifted into
another corner. "Madam, I infer from the
ill-written rigmarole I have just waded
through, and from the impressive manner in
which you revealed to me the place of its
concealment, that you are the person
described as Marget Stubs?"

The ghost bowed.

"I should spell Stubbs with two b's
myself, but everybody understands his own
business best. It appears, then, that you
defrauded one John Jones—with whose
name, I must observe, you take strange liberties
—to the tune of one thousand pounds?"

The ghost began to toss its arms about,
with every sign of the wildest agony.

"Now, my dear creature, pray compose
yourself, or we shall never get on at all,"
said Samson Brown. "Listen to me, and let
us perfectly understand each other. From
what I have read about ghosts in general,
and reasoning by analogy, I arrive at the
conclusion that, till your affair with John
Jones, his executors, administrators, or
assigns is made completely straight, you are
compelled to walk about these premises every
midnight."

The face of the ghost was distorted by a
malicious grin.

"I perfectly understand the meaning of
that expression. Although, as I said before,
you are compelled to walk about these
premises, you feel a sort of wicked pleasure in
frightening other people."

The ghost placed its hand before its eyes.

"But you do not frighten me at all—mark
that! You do not frighten me in the least.
In fact, I find your society rather agreeable
than otherwise. I never saw a ghost before,
and therefore your apparition has, at least,
the charm of novelty."

The ghost began to assume an appearance
of anxiety.

"Therefore, you perceive, if you expect
that I am going to bother myself with looking
after John Jones merely for the sake of
procuring a cessation of your visits, you are
very much mistaken. As long as I am tenant
of this house," he added, with a smile of
something like gallantry, "there shall always
be a corner at your service."

The ghost was completely puzzled. It not
only looked cadaverous—it looked stupid.

"Consequently," continued the relentless
Samson Brown, "if you wish to bring these
little freaks to a termination, it is your own
pleasure, not mine, that you are consulting.
So, come," he went on, giving his hand a
sudden slap on the table, "to make a long
matter short, what will you allow me per
cent. to wind up this affair with the
Joneses?"

The female figure glided slowly up and
down the room for a few seconds, with its
right forefinger pressed against its forehead.
When this movement had ceased, it held up
its right hand with all the fingers distended.

"Five per cent. for a special transaction
like this!" exclaimed Samson Brown,
perfectly comprehending the sign; "ridiculous!
I'll see you and all the Joneses——."

A short voluntary cough prevented the
completion of the sentence.

Again did the ghost glide up and down
the room, and when it stopped once more,
both its hands were held up, with the fingers
wildly distended.

"Ten!" cried Samson Brown. "Ten per
cent. on a thousand pounds is a round
hundred. Make your mind easy, Mrs. or Miss
Stubbs, whichever you are. If the money be
really in the cellar, and the representatives
of Jones are reasonably come-at-able, this
business shall be settled to the satisfaction of
everybody."

No sooner had he uttered these words,
than the ghost vanished. How it went,
Samson Brown neither knew nor cared. He
tried to resume his study of the Economist,
but even statistics had lost their power of
producing an excitement, and, after a few
preliminary words, he fell fast asleep in his
chair.

Sleep did not occasion any loss of time.
Dreams in a haunted house are of more than
ordinary value; and things of more than
ordinary value were not likely to be
overlooked by Samson Brown. He fancied that
he was in an adjacent village, at the shop
of one Jonathan Jones, a barber by
profession, to whose somewhat unskilful hand he
had entrusted his chin. The shaver cut him
not unfrequently; but, strange to say, while
something like blood was apparent on the
razor, not a single drop issued from the
wound.

When he woke in the morning, Samson
Brown proceeded straight to the coal-cellar;
where, after some little rummaging, he found
the one thousand pounds mentioned in the
ill-written document. It was a curious