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 at night with a vivid imagination and eighteen doors. 'But anyway,' I said, somewhat irrelevantly, but feeling round for a bit of comfort somewhere, 'anyway, you don't get ghosts out here, do you?' 'Not get ghosts!' exclaimed Berengaria. 'Why, we've got the most celebrated one in the provinces at the dâk bungalow just across the way.' Berengaria is nothing if not dramatic. She flung open one of the windows on the other side of the room. 'There it is,' she said, waving a hand out into the darkness. 'You can just see it from here.'

'What, the ghost?' I exclaimed, peering out nervously. 'Well, you may if you watch all night,' laughed Berengaria callously. 'But it's only a glimpse of the dâk bungalow you can see just now.'

'The dâk bungalow!' I gasped. 'What's that?' Berengaria explained. It's a public sort of resthouse where you can put up if you're just passing through, or if you're an official on inspection, or a stranger to the place. But if you're a nice kind of stranger, and you're staying any time, you won't be left long in the dâk bungalow. Somebody will offer to put you up. It's only the people whom nobody wants who make long stays in dâk bungalows.

Berengaria was launching herself full into the midst of the story of the ghost. I was too much upset all round to grasp the details intelligently,