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“‘No,’ I said, ‘it’s not a burglar. But I’ve found out what I wanted, that you do your morning’s work over night. But you mustn’t wait for me when I choose to sit up. And now go back to your bed like a good soul, whilst I take a run down to the beach.’

“She stood blinking in the dawn. Her face was still white.

“‘Oh, miss,’ she gasped, ‘I made sure you must have seen something!’

“‘And so I have,’ I answered, ‘but it was neither burglars nor ghosts.’

“‘Thank God!’ I heard her say as she turned her back to me in her grey bedroom–which faced the north. And I took this for a carelessly pious expression and ran downstairs, thinking no more of it.

“A few days later I began to understand.

“The plan of Tresillack house (I must explain) was simplicity itself. To the left of the hall as you entered was the dining-room; to the right the drawing-room, with a boudoir beyond. The foot of the stairs faced the front door, and beside it, passing a glazed inner door, you found two others right and left, the left opening on the kitchen, the right on a passage which ran by a store-cupboard under the bend of the stairs to a neat pantry with the usual shelves and linen-press, and under the window (which faced north) a porcelain basin and brass tap. On the first morning of my tenancy I had visited this pantry and turned the tap; but no water ran. I supposed this to be accidental. Mrs. Carkeek had to wash up glass ware and crockery, and no doubt Mrs. Carkeek would complain of any failure in the water supply.

“But the day after my surprise visit (as I called it) I had picked a basketful of roses, and carried them into the pantry as a handy place to arrange them in. I chose a china bowl and went to fill it at the tap. Again the water would not run.

“I called Mrs. Carkeek. ‘What is wrong with this tap?’ I asked. ‘The rest of the house is well enough supplied.’

“‘I don’t know, miss. I never use it.’

“‘But there must be a reason; and you must find it a great nuisance washing up the plate and glasses in the kitchen. Come around to the back with me, and we’ll have a look at the cisterns.’

“‘The cisterns’ll be all right, miss. I assure you I don’t find it a trouble.’

“But I was not to be put off. The back of the house stood but ten feet from a wall which was really but a stone face built against the cliff cut away by the architect. Above the cliff rose the kitchen garden, and from its lower path we looked over the wall’s parapet upon the cisterns. There were two–a very large one, supplying the kitchen and the bathroom above the kitchen; and a small one, obviously fed by the other, and as obviously leading, by a pipe which I could trace, to the pantry. Now the big cistern stood almost full, and yet the small one, though on a lower level, was empty.

“‘It’s as plain as daylight,’ said I. ‘The pipe between the two is choked.’ And I clambered on to the parapet.

“‘I wouldn’t, miss. The pantry tap is only cold water, and no use to me. From the kitchen boiler I gets it hot, you see.’

“‘But I want the pantry water for my flowers.’ I bent over and groped. ‘I thought as much!’ said I, as I wrenched out a thick plug of cork and immediately the water began to flow. I turned triumphantly on Mrs. Carkeek, who had grown suddenly red in the face. Her eyes were fixed on the cork in my hand. To keep it more firmly wedged in its place somebody had wrapped it round with a rag of calico print; and, discoloured though the rag was, I seemed to recall the pattern (a lilac sprig). Then, as our eyes met, it occurred to me that only two mornings before Mrs. Carkeek had worn a print gown of that same sprigged pattern.