"Well," I said, "I have no unkindly feeling towards _you_ of any kind. If you have nothing better to do than to come worrying me and keeping me awake in this way, it just shows how wise I was _not_ to marry you! You have nothing to do with my life now. And YOU CAN GO."
"Standing up" in this way to the ghost of the living had a most excellent effect, upon my mind at anyrate. I felt intensely relieved, and soon fell into a long and dreamless sleep.
This last experience first suggested the idea that this old friend _must have some special connection with that house_. In the morning I confessed to my friend that my second night had been as disturbed as the first, and the last the worst of all, adding: "That man is simply haunting the place. I am determined to try and find out if he ever lodged here."
This was by no means easy, as it turned out. His College career was already buried in the snows of some twenty-five years. Moreover, when I questioned the young daughter of our landlady as to how long her parents had lived in the house, she said at once: "Just seventeen years, ma'am. Father and mother came here the year I was born."
This did not help me much. I asked who had rented the house previously. Referring this question to her mother, she told me it had been taken from some people who had left Cambridge, and "_Mother thought they were both dead now_."
But I was determined to go on with my investigations, simply grounded upon the strong conviction that such repeated experiences _must_ have some foundation in fact.
The girl saw I looked disappointed. "Did you want to know about anyone who lived here long ago?" she ventured timidly.
"Yes; I wanted to find out whether an old friend of mine ever lodged here; he belonged to Peterhouse," was my answer.
"Ah, then, I am sure he would not have lodged here," said the girl confidently. "None of the Peterhouse gentlemen come here. It is always the Pembroke men who come to this house."
It seemed fated that I should hear no more about my living ghost.
A few days later, however, the luck turned.
I was told quite casually that Mr Pound, the well-known Cambridge chemist, had occupied our house years before, and I determined to verify this some day. As Mr Pound combined the post office with his drugs, one often went into the shop, but hitherto I had only seen his assistants.