LAND & WATER 
December 28, 1916 
it firmly for a tow «>ronds again!;t tlip marks upon the 
docir. iticn 1 IkUI it up to the light, [lure was a l;unt ^ 
antliropoiiKtrical impression of a thumb and four 
nuitilatt'd luigors upon it. I put tho paper down and 
thought a long while. Then I locked it up in my attache 
cas:!, and taking up the candle I went down on my hands 
and knees and explored the planks in the floors ; they 
wi»e firm. 1 tapjx-d the walls ; they were solid. I 
studied the ceiling ; the plaster showed no crevice. I 
tried the door of my bedroom ; it was locked. My 
pai)ers I had seen at a glance were undisturbed. 
"Hooked at my watch. It was 2 a.m. I then put a 
» chair against my bedroom door and sat down upon 
it with my W'ebley across my knees — cocked, with my 
linger upon the trigger-pull. The candle I kept alight 
beside mc. I waited and watched until the moon paled 
and dawn broke, but I heard nothing except the sighing 
of the poplars, the trickle of water through the 
sluices, and the dog fe\erishly paying , out his length of 
chain. Perhaps I dozed a Uttle. I got up shivering with 
cold and crossed the room to look at the cupboard door. 
All trace of the hand had gone. I unlocked my attache 
case and looked at the oil paper. It was as blank as the 
door. I held it up to the morning light ; the impression 
^ of the skin had entirely disappeared, but I thought I 
could detect the periphery outline of the thumb and the 
four stumps of fingers. 
"I felt worn out and irritable, but my tub and a shave 
refreshed me somewhat, and after dressing I went down- 
stairs to breakfast at the mess. (Jn my way down I 
encountered Madame. She looked even paler than usual, 
but said nothing except a languid ' Bon four, M'sicur.' 
I looked straight at her and, watching the effect of my 
words, I said ' Madame, is your house haunted ? ' 
"I thought she was going to faint. Her face turned an 
ashen grey and her fingers fumbled with her dress. ' Mais 
lion, M'sicur. Ccrtaincmcnt, non. Oh, nan, non.' I 
couldn't make her out. Her answer was more in the 
nature of a petition than a denial. I had a sudden sus- 
picion that she was concealing something from me. But 
1 merely bowed and passed out. ' 
" I worked hard all day to escape my thought^ 
and went home to my billet early. On enter- 
ing my bedroom I was surprised to sec madame 
in the dressing-room in front of the cupboard, 
the door of which was open. As she heard mc behind her 
she hastily shut the cupboard-door and, murmuring 
something about lingerie, she brushed past mc and dis- 
appeared. I didn't like finding her in my room but, 
after all, it was her house, not mine, and I had already 
taken good care to remove all my papers back to the 
office. After she had gone I went to have another look 
"at the cupboard, and I suddenly noticed that in her haste 
and agitation she had left the key in the door. I turned 
the key and threw open the cupboard. It was already- 
growing dark, and in my hurry I didn't think about a 
light at hrst. I could see the outline of something with 
four legs. Then I remembered to strike a match. It 
was a child's rocking-horse ! 
"And yet when I recalled the experiences of the night and 
Madame's agitation in the morning, to say nothing of her 
excuse about lingerie, I wasn't altogether satisfied. That 
cupboard was certainly no linen cupboard. For one thing 
there was no Unen there, nothing but this plaintive play- 
thing. For another, the cupboard was thick with dust 
and the horse caparisoned with cobwebs. French housc- 
V\4ves are much too particular about their linen to house 
it in a dusthole. 
"Nothing happened that night, but next morning, 
much to my surprise, Madame asked mc, with some 
diffidence, if I would take a cup of tea with her in the salon. 
I assented. There was nothing remarkable about the 
Toom. It was like most of the salons in French middle- 
class houses —a parquet floor, a gilded radiator like a row 
of organ-pipes, a gilt and marble clock in a glass case, 
and so on. Over the mantelpiece was a portrait of a 
child —a boy of about ten j^ears of age. After pouring 
out the tea, Madame took up some knitting and began 
clicking her needles ; she explained that she was making a 
•tricot for her husband in the trenches. I thought it was a 
pretence to hide the agitation of her hands —curious, 
isn't it, that a European reveals his agitation in his fingers, 
an Oriental in his toes— and I noticed that she per- 
petually dropped her stitches as she talked. What did 
she talk about ? Oh ! everything, but she always came 
back to the war and casualties. Were they \'erv hea\v 
in our armies ? How many did 1 think they were ? L 
drew in my horns at that -it is one of the first things a 
spy is concerned to find out -for obvious reasons. And 
yet it seemed to me that she had something on her mind 
and was more anxious to speak than to be spoken to. She 
seemed to be speaking to gain time. You know how a 
person speaks when all the time they are thinking of 
something else ? But anyhow she never got her guns 
laid on the register, whate\-er it was, and after an hour or 
so I got up and went to bed. She made no further 
approaches after that. But one thing struck me. I 
noticed every night as I went up to bed that her door — 
w^hich at first she had kept locked— was always slightly 
ajar and a light burning in her room. 
"A week went b^- and I had begun to forget all about 
my strange^- experiences when one e\ening as I got back 
to my billet 1 saw a gendarme and a woman enter the 
house just ahead, of me. I hastened my steps, and as I 
entered the hall I heard someone sobbing in the salon. 
It sounded like Madame's voice and I pushed open the 
door and walked in without ceremony. The gendarme 
and a woman in l^lack were' standing with grave faces in 
front of Madame, who was sitting in a chair gripping the 
arms convulsi\cly. The gendarme held a piece of blue 
paper in his hand. For a moment it flashed through my 
mind that it was a warrant for her arrest. But the idea 
no sooner entered my mind than I dismissed it, for on 
the gendarme's face and the face of the woman who 
accompanied him— I now recognised her as a neighbour 
— was a look of profound pity. 
" ' Votre mari etait iin heros, Madame,' the gendarme said 
softly. 
" Then I understood. You know they never send tele- 
grams in France as we do. The announcement is ahvays 
made personally by the maire or a gendarme, and a neigh- 
bour usually goes with him. Yes, they're not so prompt 
as we are, but I think they're more merciful. There is 
always a touch of ceremony about these thintjs in France 
you icnow. 
"I don't know how it was, but the sight of me seemed to 
give the poor soul some comfort, though Heaven knows 
my thoughts had been uncharitable enough. She turned 
her stricken face to mc, still clutching the sides of her 
chair, and cried : ' Ah ! Monseinr le capitainc, c'ctait 
lui, c'ctait liri / I know, I know. I heard him that 
night.' 
"My eyes must have betrayed my astonishment ; I 
thought her sorrow had turned her brain. 
" 'You do not understand, non ? But it was liis room, 
your chumhrc a coucher. He used to sleep there. Ancl 
the litth; room with the cupboard — it was the toy- 
cupboard of Ic petit, our little one whom we lost. Mon 
mari, I, sometimes the one, sometimes the other, some- 
times the two, used to go to the cu])board to look at his 
little horse. It was all of him we had left. One must 
have something, m'sicur le capitainc. C'ctait lui! 
C'ctait lui ! ' ' 
"As I mounted the stairs I heard her still repeating 
her litany of pain. ' C'ctait lui ! C'ctait lui ! ' 
" 'ICfls it he ? ' I said to myself. 
"The next day I went back to my billet earlier than 
usual, determined to atone for all my uncharitablcness 
with such words of comfort as I could offer her. I 
thought her strangely composed. Perhaps she divined as 
much in my eyes. 
" 'Ah, m'sieu' le capitainc,' she said simply, ' there arc 
some things worse than death. There is fife. Had he 
hved he would have been bhnd,' and she handed me a 
letter. It ran as follows : — 
" Chere Madame, — Votre mari etait nwn camarade ^ 
avec grande doulcur j'ecris pour vous dire qu'il est mart. 
II etait jrappe par I'eclat d'un ohus it il a mis les doigts 
sur les yeux pour les proteger et les doigts sont Irises el les 
yeux rendus aveugles. 11 est mart a mie heure et demi 
apres mintiit dans la poste de secours le rnardi, octobre le 
troisiemc. . ." 
" I read no more. I turned my face to the wall and 
pretended to be studying the crayon drawing of the dead 
child. I was afraid she might read in my face all that 
I had seen and heard on the night of Tuesday, October 
the 3rd. With a few hasty words of condolence I left 
the room.' That is all." 
