We watched in silence, and listened to one another’s breathing. But the faint shadows, in that starlit vista, were unwavering.
“It wasn’t likely anything——” Van Hope said apologetically. “I was thinking, though, that any stranger ought to be investigated——”
“He had, too,” Weldon agreed. “Not just any stranger. Any one who goes walking down there in the darkness ought to be questioned—whether he’s one of us or not. But are you sure you saw anything?”
“Not sure at all. I thought I did, though. I thought I saw him step, distinctly, through a rift in the trees. Excuse me for bothering you.”
None of us felt any embarrassment on Van Hope’s account, or any superciliousness if he had been unnecessarily alarmed. It was wholly natural, this third night of three, to wonder and be stirred by any moving thing in the darkened gardens.
But we waited and watched in vain. There were no cries from the shore of the lagoon. The silence remained unbroken, and after awhile the thought turned to other channels.
Van Hope rose at last, hurled his cigar stub to the lawns and for a breath stood watching its glowing end pale and die. The disappearance of his old friend had gone hard with him. You could see it in the stoop of his shoulders. He looked several years older.
“Nothing to do now—but go to bed,” he commented quietly. “Maybe we can get some sleep to-night.”
“The third night’s the charm,” Nopp answered grimly. “How do we know but that before this night is over we’ll be gathered out here again.” He paused, and we tried to smile at him in the darkness. Nopp was speaking with a certain grim humor, yet whatever his intentions, none of us got the idea that he was jesting. “It’s worked two nights—why not three. I’d believe anything could happen at this goblin house——”