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- Гастон Леру
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The
time
passed
,
slow
,
heavy
,
mysterious
,
stifling
.
Richard
tried
to
laugh
.
"
I
shall
end
by
believing
in
the
omnipotence
of
the
ghost
,
"
he
said
.
"
Just
now
,
don
’
t
you
find
something
uncomfortable
,
disquieting
,
alarming
in
the
atmosphere
of
this
room
?
"
"
You
’
re
quite
right
,
"
said
Moncharmin
,
who
was
really
impressed
.
"
The
ghost
!
"
continued
Richard
,
in
a
low
voice
,
as
though
fearing
lest
he
should
be
overheard
by
invisible
ears
.
"
The
ghost
!
Suppose
,
all
the
same
,
it
were
a
ghost
who
puts
the
magic
envelopes
on
the
table
.
.
.
who
talks
in
Box
Five
.
.
.
who
killed
Joseph
Buquet
.
.
.
who
unhooked
the
chandelier
.
.
.
and
who
robs
us
!
For
,
after
all
,
after
all
,
after
all
,
there
is
no
one
here
except
you
and
me
,
and
,
if
the
notes
disappear
and
neither
you
nor
I
have
anything
to
do
with
it
,
well
,
we
shall
have
to
believe
in
the
ghost
.
.
.
in
the
ghost
.
"
At
that
moment
,
the
clock
on
the
mantlepiece
gave
its
warning
click
and
the
first
stroke
of
twelve
struck
.
The
two
managers
shuddered
.
The
perspiration
streamed
from
their
foreheads
.
The
twelfth
stroke
sounded
strangely
in
their
ears
.
When
the
clock
stopped
,
they
gave
a
sigh
and
rose
from
their
chairs
.
"
I
think
we
can
go
now
,
"
said
Moncharmin
.
"
I
think
so
,
"
Richard
a
agreed
.
"
Before
we
go
,
do
you
mind
if
I
look
in
your
pocket
?
"
