Meredith, conscious of Bourne’s mischievous pleasure in the contretemps, sighed.

‘I expressed myself badly. What I was trying to say is that normally we attribute hallucinations to mental disorder due to brain damage or drugs or hypnotic direction. For example Bourne could arrange it that Ann Parish would see an additional person in this room. Such a person’s appearance would be totally convincing to her. If that person sat on a chair, he would block out the correct parts of that chair. In other words, within us there is a mechanism that can manufacture or stage-manage a production, animate or inanimate, that can fool us.’ He looked at Paul. ‘What I was suggesting is that you may have picked up something from this house which triggered-off the hallucination of a man. You see we have to remember its history. I think we have to consider it a distinct possibility that Mr Wilson saw an apparition at that window. Just’ – he raised his voice and hand to forestall any reaction – ‘as we have to consider that if that was so, there may have been no intruder. And therefore, since we have eliminated the possibility that any of us disturbed the dining-room, it is at least possible that the happening was supernormal.’ His face deadly serious, he continued: ‘With so many people living in the house again, it may be that it is, for want of a better word, powering-up again.’

9

9 Echo of a Tragedy

‘ “Powering-up”.’ Bourne did not attempt to hide his scorn. ‘Not a very scientific term, if I may say so.’

‘I know. But there are plenty of cases in the literature of houses where there seems to be a necessity that with a new family in residence some time must elapse before the phenomena – whatever they are – reach a climax.’

Pollard, obviously treading warily on totally unfamiliar ground, frowned.

‘But the house has been lying empty for fifteen years. And we’ve been here just over twenty-four hours. Surely that’s a bit too fast for it to be “recharging its batteries”?’

Meredith turned his head and firelight sparked from his glasses.

‘That is one of the things that worries me. It is fast. Almost as if . . . well, almost as if whatever it is is aware that this is its last opportunity.’

‘Opportunity? For what?’ Jeremy Hunt’s voice was sharp.

‘I don’t know. Communication, possibly. I am not trying to alarm you but I feel I must alert you.’

‘Well, you’re scaring me spitless,’ said Hunt, half-facetiously. ‘Pollard, if you find me in your bed tonight it won’t be because I’m that way’ – he bent a wrist limply, ‘but just because I’ve heard clanking chains.’

Paul saw the army captain grin. Bourne’s sardonic face took on a look of impatience.