Read Online Within That Room! by John Russell Fearn - Free Book Online Page B

somebody’s been studying it pretty closely already.”
    â€œNot for me, thanks,” Vera said. “I don’t want to know the history of this place. I know it too well. All I want to know, anyway!”
    â€œThen I’ll have a look at it,” Dick decided, tucking it under his arm. “Somebody has spent a good deal of time on it so I’ll do likewise.”
    Vera reached out her hand at random and took down a volume. Its title made her start—Macaulay’s Essays and Lays of Ancient Rome .
    â€œWow!” Dick exclaimed. “If you’re going to read through that, I shan’t see you again until next year!”
    â€œIt’ll do,” she said. “Come on.”
    Dick extinguished the lamps and they made their way slowly upstairs. In the gloom of the corridor outside Vera’s rooms, they stopped.
    â€œYou’ll be all right?” Dick questioned.
    â€œOf course, I’ll lock my door.... And tomorrow we’ll telephone Thwaite?”
    â€œDefinitely!”
    Vera waited for him to move on, but instead his hand gripped hers.
    â€œNo use taking up the matter of that engagement kiss, is there?” Dick asked.
    â€œNot yet,” she answered calmly.
    â€œThat’s what you think,” he murmured—and suddenly she felt his lips press on her cheek; then he was gone, skipping into the gloom, faintly outlined against the dim stained glass window.
    â€œYou—you fathead!” Vera breathed after him. It was not quite the right word, but it was the only one she could think of at that moment. She turned into her room with a smile on her face....
    Much though she admired the massive prose of Macaulay, Vera found it impossible to pursue for very long his masterly exposition on Machiavelli once she got into bed. She couldn’t help thinking about that kiss she had received. It took priority in her memory over the horrible events in the ghost room; it even made her forget the problem of the transformed basement below. She was almost willing to think that she had imagined things after all.
    Just at this moment she was feeling comfortable for the first time since she had arrived at Sunny Acres. She was drowsily tired; a strong young man was next door ready to protect her. The sheets were cool.... She stirred in the richness of comfort and lay on her back, head deep in the pillow, her hands locked behind it. Meditations took possession of her as she watched cool moonlight steal through the un-curtained window—meditations which trailed off into sleep.
    Dick Wilmott was not asleep. He was propped up in the pillows, squinting at The History of Sunny Acres and muttering uncomplimentary remarks about the dimness of the oil lamp at his side on the bed table.
    He twisted and turned sharply, laid his book flat on the bed. Stolidly he forced himself to read, not consecutively, but snatches of the close-packed text.
    â€œIt is an undoubted fact that a representative of the Devil does exist in Sunny Acres. In a long line of owners of Sunny Acres, all of the have referred to the evil presence which makes itself apparent every year on the 21 st of June. There have been times, it is recorded, when it has also been seen on the 20 th and 22 nd of June....”
    â€œMmmm—think of that!” Dick murmured, nodding approvingly. “Just in case it missed fire the first time, I suppose....”
    â€œ...Whether the ghost is a genuine manifestation of the psychic realm, or whether it is the outcome of some peculiarity of the room itself is not known. Psychic experts have studied the room carefully—at times when the ghost has not been present—but they have all failed to detect the least trace of psychic phenomena.”
    Dick found the lines blurring and he yawned hugely. He closed his eyes peacefully—then suddenly he sat bolt upright.
    â€œWhat?” he said to himself. “‘Failed to detect the least trace of psychic