"
"Never mind the bed," I replied. "I have lived in furnished
apartments for gentlemen, and have been accustomed to sleep on beds
that have never been made from one year's end to the other. Do not
thwart me in my resolve. I am young, and have had a clear
conscience now for over a month. The spirits will not harm me. I
may even do them some little good, and induce them to be quiet and
go away. Besides, I should like to see the show."
Saying which, I sat down again. (How Mr. Coombes came to be in my
chair, instead of at the other side of the room, where he had been
all the evening; and why he never offered to apologise when I sat
right down on top of him; and why young Biffles should have tried
to palm himself off upon me as my Uncle John, and induced me, under
that erroneous impression, to shake him by the hand for nearly
three minutes, and tell him that I had always regarded him as
father,--are matters that, to this day, I have never been able to
fully understand.)
They tried to dissuade me from what they termed my foolhardy
enterprise, but I remained firm, and claimed my privilege. I was
'the guest.' 'The guest' always sleeps in the haunted chamber on
Christmas Eve; it is his perquisite.
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