It was while we were at dinner that the conversation turned upon the supernatural--upon houses and places that were reputed to be haunted--and then Madame la Comtesse made a remarkable statement.

She laughingly asserted that she had just learned that, in purchasing the Chateau Larouge, she had also become the possessor of a sort of family ghost.

She said that she had only just heard--from an outside source--that there was a horrible legend connected with the place; in short, that for centuries it had been reputed to be under a sort of spell of evil and to be cursed by a dreadful visitant known as 'The Red Crawl'-- a hideous and loathsome creature, neither spider nor octopus, but horribly resembling both--which was supposed to 'appear' at intervals in the middle of the night, and, like the fabled giants of fairy tales, carry off 'lovely maidens and devour them.'" "Who is responsible for that ridiculous assertion, I wonder?
I think I may say that I know as much about the Chateau Larouge and its history as anybody, Miss Lorne, but I never heard of this supposed 'legend' before in all my life." "So the baron, too, declared, laughing as derisively as any of us over the story, although it is well known that he has a natural antipathy to all crawling things--an abhorrence inherited from his mother--and has been known to run like a frightened child from the appearance of a mere garden spider." "Oho!" said Cleek again.

"I see! I see! The toasted cheese smells stronger, and there's a distinct suggestion of the Rhine about it this time.

There's something decidedly German about that fabulous 'monster' and that haunted chateau, Miss Lorne.