"U'm, I see how you worked it, out," I replied, "but will Mr. Richards be satisfied? We've accounted for one of the children, because we found part of her skeleton in the fire, but can we swear the rest disappeared in the same manner? Richards will want a statistical table of facts before he parts with three thousand dollars, I imagine."
"Parbleu, will he, indeed?" de Grandin answered, something like his usual elfish grin spreading across his face. "What think you would be the result were we to notify the authorities of the true facts leading up to Madame Martin's suicide? Would not the newspapers make much of it. Cordieu, I shall say they would, and the home for orphans over which Monsieur Richards presides so pompously would receive what you call 'the black eye.' Morbleu, my friend, the very black eye, indeed! No, no; me, I think Monsieur Richards will gladly pay us the reward, nor haggle over terms.
"Meanwhile, we are at home once more. Come, let us drink the cognac."
"Drink cognac?" I answered. "Why, in heaven's name?"
"Parbleu, we shall imbibe a toast to the magnificent three thousand dollars Monsieur Richards pays us tomorrow morning!"
The Turret Room
By August W. Derleth
Lord Alving stopped in the act of lighting his cheroot. He turned slowly toward the Earl of Kent loudly addressing a small group about him. He smiled quizzically and spoke.
"I say, old fellow," said Lord Alving, "are you quite certain of the element of truth in everything you say?"
The conversation stopped, automatically it seemed. The Earl of Kent raised his eyebrows in a mock serious gesture. Lord Alving remained smiling, the unlighted cheroot in his hand.
"For instance, what, Alving?"
"The exact words were these, I believe: 'Ghosts. . . balderdash, poppycock.'" He paused. "You said that, didn't you?"
"Yes, I believe I did."
"And you meant it?"
"Of course, Alving."
The ladies had stopped bridge and stood about in a small circle. Lady Montross idly stirred a cup of tea. Lady Alving had come away from her table with a royal flush in her hand. The Duke of Gloucester stood looking at it in the small silence.
"You believe every word of it, too, eh, old man?"
"Yes, I do."
"Then let me tell you something, something that happened to me about seven years ago down at the Duke of Gloucester's castle. There was rather an excellent crowd; trust the Duke to make a pleasing selection. We were gathered about the dinner table one evening, and somehow we began to talk about the supernatural. We were rather amused at some of the theories of our Lodge, of Lombroso, and of Flammarion. The Duke didn't
