Part 61

"Marse Warren, dat warn't no wind. Ah hope to die if dat warn't a shore 'nuff human groan." He turned and looked toward the big oil portrait of an ancient Spanish hidalgo over the fireplace. "An' I wants to tell you somepin else. Has you ever been in church or somew'ere an' all of a suddent a feelin' comes over you dat dere's someone's eyes a-starin' at de back of your haid ... you jest knowed it--until you couldn't stand it no longer, an' jest had to turn 'round an' see who it was?"

"Yes, Rusty, I've had that. Why?"

"Dat's jest de way I feel now. Like dem eyes in dat picture was a-lookin right through me. Like he'd like to step right outen de frame. Or dem two boogie battleship men would like to jump right down on me," and he pointed toward the two suits of armor on the landing above.

"It's been a good many hundred years since those boys jumped. But listen--there's someone running as sure as you're alive, Rusty."

It was unmistakable. The steps came nearer and nearer, and then came a repetition of that dull thud in a distant room.

"I want to go home," moaned Rusty.

Jarvis had drawn his revolver again, and he was standing close to the stairs.

"Great Scott, Rusty! The man with the smoky lantern has been up these stairs. There are oil drippings, still fresh."

"You-all ain't going up, is you?" pleaded Rusty.

"Not at all. Because this Mr. Ghost or some of his spooky friends are probably waiting at the top of the stairs with a long gun, and I'm no book hero."

"Suppose it might be dat dere Mrs. Princess'es brother?"

"Well, he might blow my head off because he doesn't know what I came here for, and if it's someone else they'd blow it off because they do know why I'm here. There's somebody trying to scare us, Rusty. They're probably watching every move we make.... That's where that pounding comes from--why don't they shoot?... They're trying to scare us as they did the poor boobs down in the village."

Rusty crossed toward the fireplace. He picked up an old mallet and chisel from the mantel, which was brighter now from the fire. He cried out in surprise:

"Look yere, Marse Warren. Look yere!"

He handed the tools over to the astounded Jarvis. "I found 'em on dat mantelpiece!"

Jarvis ran to the mantelpiece and clambered up on a chair, holding the lantern close to the wall.

"Good boy, Rusty! These are the Ghost's tools, all right. Someone was working in this room--but we've beaten him to it.... Mortar on the floor ... mortar on the mantle!... Look here at these stones. That's where he was working, Rusty, and we've beaten him to it."

He stopped, and both of them turned simultaneously to look at the big picture of the historical Spaniard. Rusty had drawn his own revolver, with Jarvis doing the same by a curious instinct.

"Did you feel dat, too, Marse Warren?" asked the frightened negro.

Jarvis said nothing. He went to the picture and, lighting a match, passed it all around the frame, examining it, without the discovery of a suspicious thing. He turned away, then faced it once more as he backed toward the low balustrade of the steps over which stood one of the suits of armor.

"By George, that's weird. You could feel that just as plain...."

Rusty was still looking with fascination at the picture.

"It sure is, Marse Warren, it sure is...." He turned slowly, facing Warren Jarvis. He had just time for one piercing howl--a veritable high-pitched scream:

"My Gawd, look out!"

XVII

CONCLUSION

Rusty had dived under the table.

The great sword of the armored figure was swinging swiftly up in air, and Jarvis leaped with all the sinewy strength of his young manhood.