CHAPTER IV
For an instant, with the thought of spirits still upon me, I tried to shake away the hand; then, as I started around at my assailant, I saw that it was Godfrey.
"Well, Lester," he said, "did you leave the fifty thousand?"
I nodded; I was even yet scarcely capable of connected speech.
Godfrey looked at me curiously.
"You look like you'd seen a ghost," he said.
"I have."
He laughed amusedly.
"Peter Magnus?"
I nodded.
"How is the old boy?"
"Look here, Godfrey," I said, "this isn't a thing to speak of in that tone. There's something sacred about it."
His face sobered as he looked at me. It grew serious enough to suit even my mood.
"So you were imposed on, too," he said at last.
I didn't like the words, nor the tone in which they were uttered.
"No, I wasn't imposed on," I said tartly. "I must be getting along,
Godfrey. I haven't anything to tell you."
"Not just yet," he said. "Come over here across the street, Lester, where I can have an eye on the Magnus house. Don't you see—if I was wrong this morning, then you were right."
"Right?"
"If she told you the truth, some one is trying to do her out of fifty thousand dollars."
"She's given it to her husband," I said. "She thinks he's going to use it as you said."
"Given it to her husband?"
"Well, placed it on the desk in front of him."
"Did you see him?"
"I saw him write a note," I said doggedly. "You can't see a spirit, you know—its impalpable."
By this time we were deep in the shadow of another doorway across the street, and Godfrey leaned back against a pillar and mused for a moment.
"Of course," he said at last, "I don't want you to do anything unprofessional, Lester, but I really think you'd better tell me. You didn't hesitate to call me in this morning."
"I thought then that somebody was trying to bunco Mrs. Magnus."
"And I think so now," said Godfrey. "Surely you know you can trust me."
I demurred a while longer, but finally told him the whole story. When
I had ended, he gave a little low whistle of amazement.
"Well," he said, "that's what I call clever. There's a certain artistic touch about it—only one man—"
He fell silent again, absently gnawing his under lip.
"How long are you going to stay here?" I demanded at last.
"Not long," he answered. "Only until that light goes out over yonder."
He nodded toward one of the upper windows of the Magnus house. Even as
I looked at it, the light disappeared.
"Now," he said, "we'd better be moving up a little closer, Lester.
Around this way, so we can't be seen from the door."
"You mean you think somebody is coming out of that house?"
"Certainly. The ghost's coming out. You didn't expect him to stay there all night, did you? That would be a little—well—indelicate, don't you think?"
"But how—"
"How am I going to see him? Well, I think I'll see him all right. Besides, the money would be visible, wouldn't it? Or does it become invisible when the ghost puts it in his pocket?"
"The cigar was invisible," I said weakly, "and the pen."
Really, out here with Godfrey, it did seem pretty ridiculous.
I was going to say something more—perhaps to try to excuse myself for my credulity—but Godfrey silenced me with a gesture. We had crept along in the shadow of the adjoining building until we were beside the entrance to the Magnus house.
"Maybe he'll go out the back way," I breathed.
"There isn't any back way. All built up. It's this way, or none."
The thought occurred to me that a brick wall would make no difference to a spirit, but I felt that I was lapsing into a state of imbecility, and stood silent, shivering a little. For it had started to drizzle again.
Then from the direction of the house came the sound of a door softly closing, and I saw a shadow flit down the steps. It certainly looked like a ghost; but I heard Godfrey chuckle softly; then, with a bound, he was upon the figure and had it by the throat. I caught the sound of a sharp struggle, but it was over before I could collect myself sufficiently to go to Godfrey's assistance.
When I did get there I found him grimly surveying a small and wizened creature, whose arm he had linked to his own by means of a handcuff.
"Lester," he said, "allow me to introduce you to the ghost of Peter
Magnus—otherwise Mr. Jemmy Blum, the Tom Thumb of con men. Jemmy," he
added, "aren't you ashamed to be playing such tricks on my friend, Mr.
Lester?"
The small creature's eyes twinkled maliciously as he glanced up at me.
"Ho," he said contemptuously, "'twasn't no trick to fool him. But I didn't know he was your friend. If I had, I'd 'a' let him alone."