Not one of us ever willingly missed, for
after a thoroughly sensible little dinner Carnacki would snuggle down
into his big armchair, light his pipe, and wait whilst we arranged
ourselves comfortably in our accustomed seats and nooks. Then he would
begin to talk. Upon this particular night I was the first to arrive and found
Carnacki sitting, quietly smoking over a paper. He stood up, shook me
firmly by the hand, pointed to a chair, and sat down again, never
having uttered a word. For my part, I said nothing either. I knew the man too well to bother him
with questions or the weather, and so took a seat and a cigarette. Presently the three others turned up and after that we spent a
comfortable and busy hour at dinner. Dinner over, Carnacki snugged himself down into his great chair, as I
have said was his habit, filled his pipe and puffed for awhile, his gaze
directed thoughtfully at the fire. The rest of us, if I may so express
it, made ourselves cozy, each after his own particular manner. A minute
or so later Carnacki began to speak, ignoring any preliminary remarks,
and going straight to the subject of the story we knew he had to tell:

"I have just come back from Sir Alfred Jarnock's place at Burtontree, in
South Kent," he began, without removing his gaze from the fire. "Most
extraordinary things have been happening down there lately and Mr. George
Jarnock, the eldest son, wired to ask me to run over and see whether I
could help to clear matters up a bit. I went. "When I got there, I found that they have an old Chapel attached to the
castle which has had quite a distinguished reputation for being what is
popularly termed 'haunted.' They have been rather proud of this, as I
managed to discover, until quite lately when something very disagreeable
occurred, which served to remind them that family ghosts are not always
content, as I might say, to remain purely ornamental. "It sounds almost laughable, I know, to hear of a long-respected
supernatural phenomenon growing unexpectedly dangerous; and in this case,
the tale of the haunting was considered as little more than an old myth,
except after nightfall, when possibly it became more plausible seeming. "But however this may be, there is no doubt at all but that what I might
term the Haunting Essence which lived in the place, had become suddenly
dangerous--deadly dangerous too, the old butler being nearly stabbed to
death one night in the Chapel, with a peculiar old dagger. "It is, in fact, this dagger which is popularly supposed to 'haunt' the
Chapel. At least, there has been always a story handed down in the family
that this dagger would attack any enemy who should dare to venture into
the Chapel, after nightfall. But, of course, this had been taken with
just about the same amount of seriousness that people take most ghost
tales, and that is not usually of a worryingly _real_ nature. I mean that
most people never quite know how much or how little they believe of
matters ab-human or ab-normal, and generally they never have an
opportunity to learn. And, indeed, as you are all aware, I am as big a
skeptic concerning the truth of ghost tales as any man you are likely to
meet; only I am what I might term an unprejudiced skeptic. I am not given
to either believing or disbelieving things 'on principle,' as I have
found many idiots prone to be, and what is more, some of them not ashamed
to boast of the insane fact. I view all reported 'hauntings' as unproven
until I have examined into them, and I am bound to admit that ninety-nine
cases in a hundred turn out to be sheer bosh and fancy. But the
hundredth! Well, if it were not for the hundredth, I should have few
stories to tell you--eh? "Of course, after the attack on the butler, it became evident that there
was at least 'something' in the old story concerning the dagger, and I
found everyone in a half belief that the queer old weapon did really
strike the butler, either by the aid of some inherent force, which I
found them peculiarly unable to explain, or else in the hand of some
invisible thing or monster of the Outer World! "From considerable experience, I knew that it was much more likely that
the butler had been 'knifed' by some vicious and quite material human! "Naturally, the first thing to do, was to test this probability of human
agency, and I set to work to make a pretty drastic examination of the
people who knew most about the tragedy. "The result of this examination, both pleased and surprised me, for
it left me with very good reasons for belief that I had come upon one
of those extraordinary rare 'true manifestations' of the extrusion of
a Force from the Outside. In more popular phraseology--a genuine case
of haunting. "These are the facts: On the previous Sunday evening but one, Sir Alfred
Jarnock's household had attended family service, as usual, in the Chapel. You see, the Rector goes over to officiate twice each Sunday, after
concluding his duties at the public Church about three miles away. "At the end of the service in the Chapel, Sir Alfred Jarnock, his
son Mr. George Jarnock, and the Rector had stood for a couple of
minutes, talking, whilst old Bellett the butler went 'round, putting
out the candles. "Suddenly, the Rector remembered that he had left his small prayer book
on the Communion table in the morning; he turned, and asked the butler to
get it for him before he blew out the chancel candles. "Now I have particularly called your attention to this because it is
important in that it provides witnesses in a most fortunate manner at an
extraordinary moment. You see, the Rector's turning to speak to Bellett
had naturally caused both Sir Alfred Jarnock and his son to glance in the
direction of the butler, and it was at this identical instant and whilst
all three were looking at him, that the old butler was stabbed--there,
full in the candlelight, before their eyes. "I took the opportunity to call early upon the Rector, after I had
questioned Mr. George Jarnock, who replied to my queries in place of Sir
Alfred Jarnock, for the older man was in a nervous and shaken condition
as a result of the happening, and his son wished him to avoid dwelling
upon the scene as much as possible. "The Rector's version was clear and vivid, and he had evidently received
the astonishment of his life. He pictured to me the whole
affair--Bellett, up at the chancel gate, going for the prayer book, and
absolutely alone; and then the _blow_, out of the Void, he described it;
and the _force_ prodigious--the old man being driven headlong into the
body of the Chapel. Like the kick of a great horse, the Rector said, his
benevolent old eyes bright and intense with the effort he had actually
witnessed, in defiance of all that he had hitherto believed. "When I left him, he went back to the writing which he had put aside when
I appeared. I feel sure that he was developing the first unorthodox
sermon that he had ever evolved. He was a dear old chap, and I should
certainly like to have heard it.