Simultaneously heavy feet were to be heard clumping up the
basement steps; and surmising that the janitor was coming to light
the hall, the young man waited, leaning over the balusters. His
guess proving correct, he called down:
"O'Hagan? Is that you?"
"Th' saints presarve us! But 'twas yersilf gave me th' sthart,
Misther Maitland, sor!" O'Hagan paused in the gloom below, his
upturned face quaintly illuminated by the flame of a wax taper in
his gaslighter.
"I'm dining in town to-night, O'Hagan, and dropped around to
dress. Is anybody else at home?"
"Nivver a wan, sor. Shure, th' house do be quiet's anny tomb--"
"Then who was that lady, O'Hagan?"
"Leddy, sor?"--in unbounded amazement.
"Yes," impatiently. "A young woman left the house just as I was
coming in. Who was she?"
"Shure an' I think ye must be dr'amin', sor. Divvle a female--
rayspicts to ye!--has been in this house for manny an' manny th'
wake, sor."
"But, I tell you--"
"Belike 'twas somewan jist sthepped into the vesthibule, mebbe to
tie her shoe, sor, and ye thought--"
"Oh, very well." Maitland relinquished the inquisition as
unprofitable, willing to concede O'Hagan's theory a reasonable
one, the more readily since he himself could by no means have
sworn that the woman had actually come out through the door. Such
had merely been his impression, honest enough, but founded on
circumstantial evidence.
"When you're through, O'Hagan," he told the Irishman, "you may
come and shave me and lay out my things, if you will.
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