“I had a theory,” I said, “that it is the work of a lunatic, but I’ve since concluded it is due to practical jokers. I’ll tell you what I’ll do. If you wait here, I’ll investigate and see what I can find out for you.”
“Oh, would you really dare, Mr. Wade? I don’t believe men ever have creepy nerves,” she exclaimed.
I began to feel ashamed of my deception.
“I wouldn’t go, Lucien,” warned Rob, coming to my rescue. “There may be a gang of desperadoes in there, or counterfeit money-makers, or something of that kind. Besides, I have a far more interesting piece 201 of news than anything the ghost could give you.”
“Rob!” protested Beth.
“We know it already,” I laughed. “It’s to be a story-and-a-half high.”
“I think I am getting material for quite a story,” declared Miss Frayne.
I knew Beth’s dislike of scenes and display of emotions––mock heroics––she called them, so I made no congratulatory speeches of the bless-you-my-children order, but presently under the cover of darkness, I felt a little hand slipped in mine, and my clasp was eloquent of what I felt.
“I hope,” said Miss Frayne, “that daylight will make me so ashamed of my cowardice that I can come down here and take some pictures and go inside the house.”
“We’ll all come with you,” promised Beth. “There’s safety in numbers.”