Captain Rugley’s rooms were below, too. Frances knew herself to be alone in this part of the house.
Nothing had ever happened to Frances Rugley to really terrify her. Why should she be afraid now? She walked swiftly, her robe trailing behind, her slippered feet twinkling in and out under the nightgown she wore. In the cross-hall she almost ran. There, at the end, was the open window. Indeed, there were no sashes in these hall windows at this time of year; only the bars.
The night air breathed in upon her. Was that a rustling just outside the bars? There was no light behind her and she did not fear being seen from without.
Tiptoeing, she came to the sill. Her ears were quick to distinguish sounds of any character. There was a strange, faint creaking not far from that wide-open casement. She could not thrust her head between the bars now (she remembered vividly the last time she had done that and got stuck, and had to shriek for Daddy to come and help her out), but she could press her face close against them and stare into the blackness of the outer world.
There! something stirred. Her eyes, growing more accustomed to the darkness, caught the shadow of something writhing in the air.
What could it be? Was it alive? A man, or—
Then the bulk of it passed higher, and the strange creaking sound was renewed. Frances almost cried aloud!
It was the man she had before seen. He was mounting directly into the air. The over-thrust of the ranch-house roof made the shadow very thick against the house-wall. The man was swinging in the air just beyond this deeper shadow.
“What can he be doing?” Frances thought.
She had almost spoken the question aloud. But she did not want to startle him–not yet.