Jarvis said nothing. He went to the picture and, lighting a match, passed it all around the frame, examining it, without the discovery of a suspicious thing. He turned away, then faced it once more as he backed toward the low balustrade of the steps over which stood one of the suits of armor.
"By George, that's weird. You could feel that just as plain...."
Rusty was still looking with fascination at the picture.
"It sure is, Marse Warren, it sure is...." He turned slowly, facing Warren Jarvis. He had just time for one piercing howl—a veritable high-pitched scream:
"My Gawd, look out!"
XVII
CONCLUSION
Rusty had dived under the table.
The great sword of the armored figure was swinging swiftly up in air, and Jarvis leaped with all the sinewy strength of his young manhood.