Rusty controlled his teeth enough to talk now.
"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.