Of all the hauntings in
Scotland, none has gained such widespread notoriety as the hauntings of
Glamis Castle, the seat of the Earl of Strathmore and Kinghorne in
Part of the castlethat part which is the more frequently hauntedis of
ancient though uncertain date, and if there is any truth in the
tradition that Duncan was murdered there by Macbeth, must, at any rate,
have been in existence at the commencement of the eleventh century. Of
course, extra buildings have, from time to time, been added, and
renovations made ; but the original structure remains pretty nearly the
same as it always has been, and is included in a square tower that
occupies a central position, and commands a complete view of the entire
Within this towerthe walls of which are fifteen feet thickthere is a
room, hidden in some unsuspected quarter, that contains a secret (the
keynote to one, at least, of the hauntings which is known only to the
Earl, his heir (on the attainment of his twenty-first birthday), and the
factor of the estate.
In all probability, the mystery attached to this room would challenge
but little attention, were it not for the fact that unearthly noises,
which at the time were supposed to proceed from this chamber, have been
heard by various visitors sleeping in the Square Tower.
The following experience is said to have happened to a lady named Bond.
I append it more or less in her own words.
It is a good many years since I stayed at Glamis. I was, in fact, but
little more than a child, and had only just gone through my first season
in town. But though young, I was neither nervous nor imaginative; I was
inclined to be what is termed stolid, that is to say, extremely
matter-of-fact and practical. Indeed, when my friends exclaimed, You
dont mean to say you are going to stay at Glamis!
Dont you know its haunted? I burst out laughing.
Haunted! I said, how ridiculous! There are no such things as ghosts.
One might as well believe in fairies.
Of course I did not go to Glamis alone my mother and sister were with
me ; but whereas they slept in the more modern part of the castle, I
was, at my own request, apportioned a room in the Square Tower.
I cannot say that my choice had anything to do with the secret chamber.
That, and the alleged mystery, had been dinned into my ears so often
that I had grown thoroughly sick of the whole thing. No, I wanted to
sleep in the Square Tower for quite a different reason, a reason of my
own. I kept an aviary; the tower was old; and I naturally hoped its
walls would be covered with ivy and teeming with birds nests, some of
which I might be able to reachand, I am ashamed to say, plunder from
Alas, for my expectations! Although the Square Tower was so ancient that
in some places it was actually crumbling awaynot the sign of a leaf,
not the vestige of a birds nest could I see anywhere; the walls were
abominably, brutally bare. However, it was not long before my
disappointment gave way to delight; for the air that blew in through the
open window was so sweet, so richly scented with heather and
honeysuckle, and the view of the broad, sweepings thickly wooded grounds
so indescribably charming, that, despite my inartistic and unpoetical
nature, I was entrancedentranced as I had never been before, and never
have been since. Ghosts! I said to myself, ghosts! how absurd! how
preposterously absurd ! such an adorable spot as this can only harbour
sunshine and flowers.
I well remember, toofor, as I have already said, I was not poeticalhow
much I enjoyed my first dinner at Glamis. The long journey and keen
mountain air had made me hungry, and I thought I had never tasted such
delicious foodsuch ideal salmon (from the Esk) and such heavenly fruit.
But I must tell you that, although I ate heartily, as a healthy girl
should, by the time I went to bed I had thoroughly digested my meal, and
was, in fact, quite ready to partake of a few oatmeal biscuits I found
in my dressing-case, and remembered having bought at Perth. It was about
eleven oclock when my maid left me, and I sat for some minutes wrapped
in my dressing gown, before the open window. The night was very still,
and save for an occasional rustle of the wind in the distant tree-tops,
the hooting of an owl, the melancholy cry of a peewit and the hoarse
barking of a dog, the silence was undisturbed.
The interior of my room was, in nearly every particular, modern. The
furniture was not old ; there were no grim carvings; no
grotesquely-fashioned tapestries on the walls; no dark cupboards; no
gloomy corners;all was cosy and cheerful, and when I got into bed no
thought of bogle or mystery entered my mind.
In a few minutes I was asleep, and for some time there was nothing but a
blank a blank in which all identity was annihilated. Then suddenly I
found myself in an oddly-shaped room with a lofty ceiling, and a window
situated at so great a distance from the black oaken floor as to be
altogether inaccessible from within. Feeble gleams of phosphorescent
light made their way through the narrow panes, and served to render
distinct the more prominent objects around; but my eyes struggled in
vain to reach the remoter angles of the wall, one of which inspired me
with terror such as I had never felt before. The walls were covered with
heavy draperies that were sufficient in themselves to preclude the
possibility of any save the loudest of sounds penetrating without.
The furniture, if such one could call it, puzzled me. It seemed more
fitted for the cell of a prison or lunatic asylum, or even for a kennel,
than for an ordinary dwelling-room. I could see no chair, only a coarse
deal table, a straw mattress, and a kind of trough. An air of
irredeemable gloom and horror hung over and pervaded everything. As I
stood there, I felt I was waiting for somethingsomething that was
concealed in the corner of the room I dreaded. I tried to reason with
myself, to assure myself that there was nothing there that could hurt
me, nothing that could even terrify me, but my efforts were in vain my
fears grew. Had I had some definite knowledge as to the cause of my
alarm I should not have suffered so much, but it was my ignorance of
what was there, of what I feared, that made my terror so poignant. Each
second saw the agony of my suspense increase. I dared not move. I hardly
dare breathe, and I dreaded lest the violent pulsation of my heart
should attract the attention of the Unknown Presence and precipitate its
coming out. Yet despite the perturbation of my mind, I caught myself
analysing my feelings. It was not danger I abhorred so much, as its
absolute effectfright. I shuddered at the bare thought of what result
the most trivial incidentthe creaking of a board, ticking of a beetle,
or hooting of an owl might have on the intolerable agitation of my
In this unnerved and pitiable condition I felt that the period was bound
to come, sooner or later, when I should have to abandon life and reason
together in the most desperate of struggles withfear.
At length something moved. An icy chill ran through my frame, and the
horror of my anticipations immediately reached its culminating point.
The Presence was about to reveal itself.
The gentle rubbing of a soft body on the floor, the crack of a bony
joint, breathing, another crack, and then was it my own excited
imaginationor the disturbing influence of the atmosphereor the
uncertain twilight of the chamber that produced before me, in the
stygian darkness of the recess, the vacillating and indistinct outline
of something luminous, and horrid? I would gladly have risked futurity
to have looked elsewhereI could not. My eyes were fixedI was compelled
to gaze steadily in front of me.
Slowly, very slowly, the thing, whatever it was, took shape.
Legscrooked, misshapen, human legs. A bodytawny and hunched. Armslong
and spidery, with crooked, knotted fingers. A headlarge and bestial,
and covered with a tangled mass of grey hair that hung around its
protruding forehead and pointed ears in ghastly mockery of curls. A
faceand herein was the realisation of all my direst expectationsa
facewhite and staring, piglike in formation, malevolent in expression ;
a hellish combination of all things foul and animal, and yet withal not
without a touch of pathos.
As I stared at it aghast, it reared itself on its haunches after the
manner of an ape, and leered piteously at me. Then, shuffling forward,
it rolled over, and lay sprawled out like some ungainly turtle and
wallowed, as for warmth, in the cold grey beams of early dawn.
At this juncture the handle of the chamber door turned, some one
entered, there was a loud cryand I awoke awoke to find the whole
tower, walls and rafters, ringing with the most appalling screams I have
ever heard,screams of some thing or of some onefor there was in them a
strong element of what was human as well as animalin the greatest
Wondering what it meant, and more than ever terrified, I sat up in bed
and listened,listened whilst a convictionthe result of intuition,
suggestion, or what you will, but a conviction all the sameforced me to
associate the sounds with the thing in my dream. And I associate them
It was, I think, in the same yearin the year that the foregoing account
was narrated to methat I heard another story of the hauntings at Glamis,
a story in connection with a lady whom I will call Miss Macginney. I
append her experience as nearly as possible as she is stated to have
I seldom talk about my adventure, Miss Maginney announced, because so
many people ridicule the superphysical, and laugh at the mere mention of
ghosts. I own I rdid the same myself till I stayed at Glamis; but a week
there quite cured me of scepticism, and I came away a confirmed
The incident occurred nearly twenty years agoshortly after my return
from India, where my father was then stationed.
It was years since I had been to Scotland, indeed I had only once
crossed the border and that when I was a babe; consequently I was
delighted to receive an invitation to spend a few weeks in the land of
my birth. I went to Edinburgh firstI was born in Drum-sheugh
Gardensand thence to Glamis.
It was late in the autumn, the weather was intensely cold, and I arrived
at the castle in a blizzard. Indeed, I do not recollect ever having been
out in such a frightful storm. It was as much as the horses could do to
make headway, and when we reached the castle we found a crowd of anxious
faces eagerly awaiting us in the hall.
Chilled ! I was chilled to the bone, and thought I never should thaw.
But the huge fires and bright and cosy atmosphere of the roomsfor the
interior of Glamis was modernised throughoutsoon set me right, and by
tea time I felt nicely warm and comfortable.
My bedroom was in the oldest part of the castlethe Square Towerbut
although I had been warned by some of the guests that it might be
haunted, I can assure you that when I went to bed no subject was farther
from my thoughts than the subject of ghosts. I returned to my room at
about half-past eleven. The storm was then at its heightall was babel
and confusion impenetrable darkness mingled with the wildest roaring
and shrieking ; and when I peeped through my casement window I could see
nothingthe panes were shrouded in snowsnow which was incessantly
dashed against them with cyclonic fury. I fixed a comb in the
window-frame so as not to be kept awake by the constant jarring; and
with the caution characteristic of my sex looked into the wardrobe and
under the bed for burglarsthough Heaven knows what I should have done
had I found one there placed a candlestick and matchbox on the table by
my bedside, lest the roof or window should be blown in during the night
or any other catastrophe happen, and after all these preparations got
into bed. At this period of my life I was a sound sleeper, and, being
somewhat unusually tired after my journey, I was soon in a dreamless
slumber. What awoke me I cannot say, but I came to myself with a violent
start, such as might have been occasioned by a loud noise. Indeed, that
was, at first, my impression, and I strained my ears to try and
ascertain the cause of it. All was, however, silent. The storm had
abated, and the castle and grounds were wrapped in an almost
preternatural hush. The sky had cleared, and the room was partially
illuminated by a broad stream of silvery light that filtered softly in
through the white and tightly drawn blinds. A feeling that there was
something unnatural in the air, that the stillness was but the prelude
to some strange and startling event, gradually came over me. I strove to
reason with myself, to argue that the feeling was wholly due to the
novelty of my surroundings, but my efforts were fruitless. And soon
there stole upon me a sensation to which I had been hitherto an utter
strangerI became afraid. An irrepressible tremor pervaded my frame, my
teeth chattered, my blood froze. Obeying an impulsean impulse I could,
not resist, I lifted myself up from the pillows, and, peering fearfully
into the shadowy glow that lay directly in front of melistened. Why I
listened I do not know, saving that an instinctive spirit prompted me.
At first I could hear nothing, and then, from a direction I could not
define, there came a noise, low, distinct, uninterpretative. It was
repeated in rapid succession, and speedily construed itself into the
sound of mailed footsteps racing up the long flight of stairs at the end
of the corridor leading to my room. Dreading to think what it might be,
and seized with a wild sentiment of self-preservation, I made frantic
endeavours to get out of bed and barricade my door. My limbs, however,
refused to move. I was paralysed. Nearer and nearer drew the sounds; and
I could at length distinguish, with a clearness that petrified my very
soul, the banging and clanging of sword scabbards, and the panting and
gasping of men, sore pressed in a wild and desperate race. And then the
meaning of it all came to me with hideous abruptnessit was a case of
pursued and pursuingthe race was for life. Outside my door the
fugitive halted, and from the noise he made in trying to draw his
breath, I knew he was dead beat. His antagonist, however, gave him but
scant time for recovery. Bounding at him with prodigious leaps, he
struck him a blow that sent him reeling with such tremendous force
against the door, that the panels, although composed of the stoutest
oak, quivered and strained like flimsy matchboard.
The blow was repeated; the cry that rose in the victim's throat was
converted into an abortive gurgling groan ; and I heard the ponderous
battle-axe carve its way through helmet, bone, and brain. A moment later
came the sound of slithering armour; and the corpse, slipping sideways,
toppled to the ground with a sonorous clang.
A silence too awful for words now ensued. Having finished his hideous
handiwork, the murderer was quietly deliberating what to do next; whilst
my dread of attracting his attention was so great that I scarcely dare
breathe. This intolerable state of things had already lasted for what
seemed to me a lifetime, when, glancing involuntarily at the floor, I
saw a stream of dark-looking fluid lazily lapping its way to me from the
direction of the door. Another moment and it would reach my shoes. In my
dismay I shrieked aloud. There was a sudden stir without, a significant
clatter of steel, and the next moment despite the fact that it was
locked the door slowly opened. The limits of my endurance had now
happily been reached, the over-taxed valves of my heart could stand no
moreI fainted. On my awakening to consciousness it was morning, and the
welcome sun rays revealed no evidences of the distressing drama. I own I
had a hard tussle before I could make up my mind to spend another night
in that room; and my feelings as I shut the door on my retreating maid,
and prepared to get into bed, were not the most enviable. But nothing
happened, nor did I again experience anything of the sort till the
evening before I left. I had lain down all the afternoonfor I was tired
after a long mornings tramp on the moors, a thing I dearly loveand I
was thinking it was about time to get up, when a dark shadow suddenly
fell across my face.
I looked up hastily, and there, standing by my bedside and bending over
me, was a gigantic figure in bright armour.
Its visor was up, and what I saw within the casque is stamped for ever
on my memory. It was the face of the dead the long since deadwith the
expression the subtly hellish expressionof the living. As I gazed
helplessly at it, it bent lower. I threw up my hands to ward it off.
There was a loud rap at the door. And as my maid softly entered to-tell
me tea was readyit vanished.
The third account of the Glamis hauntings was told me as long ago as the
summer of 1893. I was travelling by rail from Perth to Glasgow, and the
only other occupant of my compartment was an elderly gentleman, who,
from his general air and appearance, might have been a dominie, or
member of some other learned profession. I can see him in my minds eye
nowa tall, thin man with a premature stoop. He had white hair, which
was brushed forward on either side of his head in such a manner as
suggested a wig; bushy eyebrows; dark, piercing eyes; and a stern,
though somewhat sad, mouth. His features were fine and scholarly; he was
clean-shaven. There was something about himsomething that marked him
from the general hordesomething that attracted me, and I began chatting
with him soon after we left Perth.
In the course of a conversation, that was at all events interesting to
me, I adroitly managed to introduce the subject of ghosts then, as
ever, uppermost in my thoughts.
Well, he said, I can tell you of something rather extraordinary that my
mother used to say happened to a friend of hers at Glamis. I have no
doubt you are well acquainted with the hackneyed stories in connection
with the hauntings at the castle; for example, Earl Beardie playing
cards with the Devil, and The Weeping Woman without Hands or Tongue. You
can read about them in scores of books and magazines. But what befel my
mother's friend, whom I will call Mrs. Gibbonsfor I have forgotten her
proper namewas apparently of a novel nature. The affair happened
shortly before Mrs. Gibbons died, and I always thought that what took
place might have been, in some way, connected with her death.
She had driven over to the castle one day during the absence of the
ownerto see her cousin, who was in the employ of the Earl and Countess.
Never having been at Glamis before, but having heard so much about it,
Mrs. Gibbons was not a little curious to see that part of the building,
called the Square Tower, that bore the reputation of being haunted.
Tactfully biding an opportunity, she sounded her relative on the
subject, and was laughingly informed that she might go anywhere about
the place she pleased, saving to one spot, namely, Bluebeard's Chamber
" ; and there she could certainly never succeed in poking her nose, as
its locality was known only to three people, all of whom were pledged
never to reveal it. At the commencement of her tour of inspection, Mrs.
Gibbons was disappointedshe was disappointed in the Tower. She had
expected to see a gaunt, grim place, crumbling to pieces with age, full
of blood-curdling, spiral staircases, and deep, dark dungeons; whereas
everything was the reverse. The walls were in an excellent state of
preservationabsolutely intact; the rooms bright and cheerful and
equipped in the most modern style; there were no dungeons, at least none
on view, and the passages and staircases were suggestive of nothing more
alarming than bats!' She was accompanied for some time by her relative,
but, on the latter being called away, Mrs. Gibbons continued her rambles
alone. She had explored the lower premises, and was leisurely examining
a handsomely furnished apartment on the top floor, when, in crossing
from one side of the room to the other, she ran into something. She
looked downnothing was to be seen. Amazed beyond description, she
thrust out her hands, and they alighted on an object, which she had
little difficulty in identifying. It was an enormous cask or barrel
lying in a horizontal position.
She bent down close to where she felt it, but she could see
nothingnothing but the well-polished boards of the floor. To make sure
again that the barrel was there, she gave a little kickand drew back
her foot with a cry of pain. She was not afraidthe sunshine in the room
forbade fearonly exasperated. She was certain a barrel was therethat
it was objective and she was angry with herself for not seeing it. She
wondered if she were going blind; but the fact that other objects in the
room were plainly visible to her, discountenanced such an idea. For some
minutes she poked and jabbed at the Thing, and then, seized with a
sudden and uncontrollable panic, she turned round and fled. And as she
tore out of the room, along the passage and down the seemingly
interminable flight of stairs, she heard the barrel behind her in close
At the foot of the staircase Mrs. Gibbons met her cousin, and, as she
clutched the latter for support, the barrel shot past her, still
continuing its descentbumpbump bump ! (though the steps as far as she
could see had ended)till the sounds gradually dwindled away in the far
Whilst the manifestations lasted, neither Mrs. Gibbons nor her cousin
spoke; but the latter, as soon as the sounds had ceased, dragged Mrs.
Gibbons away, and, in a voice shaking with terror, cried: Quick, quick
don't, for Heaven's sake, look round worse has yet to come." And,
pulling Mrs. Gibbons along in breathless haste, she unceremoniously
hustled her out of the Tower.
That was no barrel!" Mrs. Gibbons's cousin subsequently remarked by way
of explanation. I saw itI have seen it before. Don't ask me to
describe it. I dare notI dare not even think of it. Whenever it
appears, a certain thing happens shortly afterwards. Don't, don't on any
account say a word about it to any one here." And Mrs. Gibbons, my
-mother told me, came away from Glamis a thousand times more curious
than she was when she went.
The last story I have to relate is one I heard many years ago, when I
was staying near Balmoral. A gentleman named Vance, with strong
antiquarian tastes, was staying at an inn near the Strathmore estate,
and, roaming abroad one afternoon, in a fit of absent-mindedness entered
the castle grounds. It so happenedfortunately for himthat the family
were away, and he encountered no one more formidable than a man he took
to be a gardener, an uncouth-looking fellow, with a huge head covered
with a mass of red hair, hawk-like features, and high cheek-bones, high
even for a Scot. Struck with the appearance of the individual, Mr. Vance
spoke, and, finding him wonderfully civil, asked whether, by any chance,
he ever came across any fossils, when digging in the gardens.
I dinna ken the meaning of fossils, the man replied. What are they?
Mr. Vance explained, and a look of cunning gradually pervaded the
fellow's features. No! he said, "I've never found any of those things,
but if you'll give me your word to say nothing about it, I'll show you
something I once dug up over yonder by the Square Tower.
Do you mean the Haunted Tower? the Tower that is supposed to contain
the secret room? Mr. Vance exclaimed.
An extraordinary expression an expression such as Mr. Vance found it
impossible to analysecame into the mans eyes. Yes ! thats it! he
nodded. What people calland rightly call the Haunted Tower. I got it
from there. But dont you say naught about it!
Mr. Vance, whose curiosity was roused, promised, and the man, politely
requesting him to follow, led the way to a cottage that stood near by,
in the heart of a gloomy wood. To Mr. Vances astonishment the treasure
proved to be the skeleton of a hand a hand with abnormally large
knuckles, and the first joint of both fingers and thumbmuch shorter
than the others. It was the most extraordinarily shaped hand Mr. Vance
had ever seen, and he did not know in the least how to classify it. It
repelled, yet interested him, and he eventually offered the man a good
sum to allow him to keep it. To his astonishment the money was refused.
You may have the thing, and welcome, the fellow said. Only, I advise
you not to look at it late at night; or just before getting into bed. If
you do, you may have bad dreams.
I will take my chance of that! Mr. Vance laughed. You see, being a
hard-headed cockney, I am not superstitious. It is only you Highlanders,
and your first cousins the Irish, who believe nowadays in bogles, omens,
and such-like"; and, packing the hand carefully in his knapsack, Mr.
Vance bid the strange - looking creature good morning, and went on his
For the rest of the day the hand was uppermost in his thoughtsnothing
had ever fascinated him so much. He sat pondering over it the whole
evening, and bedtime found him still examining it examining it upstairs
in his room by candlelight. He had a hazy recollection that some clock
had struck twelve, and he was beginning to feel that it was about time
to retire, when, in the mirror opposite him, he caught sight of the
doorit was open.
By Jove! that's odd!" he said to himself. I could have sworn I shut
and bolted it." To make sure, he turned roundthe door was closed. An
optical delusion," he murmured; I will try again."
He looked into the mirrorthe door reflected in it wasopen. Utterly at
a loss to know how to explain the phenomenon, he leaned forward in his
seat to examine the glass more carefully, and as he did so he gave a
start. On the threshold of the doorway was a shadowblack and bulbous. A
cold shiver ran down Mr. Vance's spine, and just for a moment he felt
afraid, terribly afraid; but he quickly composed himselfit was nothing
but an illusion there was no shadow there in realityhe had only to
turn round, and the thing would be gone. It was amusingentertaining. He
would wait and see what happened.
The shadow moved. It moved slowly through the air like some huge spider,
or odd-shaped bird. He would not acknowledge that there was anything
sinister about it only something droll excruciatingly droll. Yet it
did not make him laugh. When it had drawn a little nearer, he tried to
diagnose it, to discover its material counterpart in one of the objects
around him ; but he was obliged to acknowledge his attempts were
failuresthere was nothing in the room in the least degree like it. A
vague feeling of uneasiness gradually crept over himwas the thing the
shadow of something with which he was familiar, but could not just then
re-19 call to mindsomething he fearedsomething that was sinister ? He
struggled against the idea, he dismissed it as absurd ; but it
returnedreturned, and took deeper root as the shadow drew nearer. He
wished the house was not quite so silentthat he could hear some
indication of lifeanything anything for companionship, and to rid him
of the oppressive, the very oppressive, sense of loneliness and
isolation. Again a thrill of terror ran through him.
Look here! he exclaimed aloud, glad to hear the sound of his own
voice. Look here! if this goes on much longer I shall begin to think
Im going mad. I have had enough, and more than enough, of magic mirrors
for one nightits high time I got into bed. He strove to rise from his
chairto move; he was unable to do either; some strange, tyrannical
force held him a prisoner.
A change now took place in the shadow; the blurr dissipated, and the
clearly defined outlines of an objectan object that made Mr. Vance
perfectly sick with apprehensionslowly disclosed themselves. His
suspicions were verifiedit was the Hand ! the handno longer skeleton,
but covered with green, mouldering fleshfeeling its way slyly and
stealthily towards himtowards the back of his chair! He noted the
murderous twitching of its short, flat finger-tips, the monstrous
muscles of its hideous thumb, and the great, clumsy hollows of its
clammy palm. It closed in upon him; its cold, slimy, detestable skin
touched his coat his shoulderhis neckhis head ! It pressed him down,
squashed, suffocated him! He saw it all in the glassand then an
extraordinary thing happened. Mr. Vance suddenly became animated. He got
up and peeped furtively round. Chairs, bed, wardrobe, had all
disappearedso had the bedroomand he found himself in a small, bare,
comfortless, queerly constructed apartment without a door, and with only
a narrow slit of a window somewhere near the ceiling.
He had in one of his hands a knife with a long, keen blade, and his
whole mind was bent on murder. Creeping stealthily forward, he
approached a corner of the room, where he now saw, for the first timea
mattress a mattress on which lay a huddled-up form. What the Thing was
whether human or animal Mr. Vance did not knowdid not careall he
felt was that it was there for him to killthat he loathed and hated
ithated it with a hatred such as nothing else could have produced.
Tiptoeing gently up to it, he bent down, and, lifting his knife high
above his head, plunged it into the Thing's body with all the force he
He recrossed the room, and found himself once more in his apartment at
the inn. He looked for the skeleton handit was not where he had left
itit had vanished. Then he glanced at the mirror, and on its
brilliantly polished surface sawnot his own face but the face of the
gardener, the man who had given him the hand! Features, colour, hair
all all were identical wonderfully, hideously identicaland as the
eyes met his, they smileddevilishly.
Early the next day, Mr. Vance set out for the spinney and cottage; they
were not to be foundnobody had ever heard of them. He continued his
travels, and some months later, at a loan collection of pictures in a
gallery in Edinburgh, he came to an abrupt a very abrupthalt, before
the portrait of a gentleman in ancient costume. The face seemed
strangely familiarthe huge head with thick, red hairthe hawk-like
features the thin and tightly compressed lips. Then, in a trice, it all
came back to him: the face he looked at was that of the uncouth
gardenerthe man who had given him the hand. And to clinch the matter,
the eyes leered.
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