She shot upward. Another moment and she found herself racing along the corridor to her father’s rooms, twisting at the handle of the door.
She almost fell into the ante-room occupied by Jimmy Lomax. He jumped to his feet.
“Hetty!”
“Father!” She had scarcely breath enough for utterance. “Father!—I must see Father——!”
“Hetty, you can’t! He’s busy in his private room—no one dare——”
“I must!” she gasped. “Quick!—the ghost——!”
He stared in astonishment. She dodged past him, flung open the door into the next room.
Henry Forsdyke was standing, checking over a sheaf of papers in his hand, in front of the swung-open wall of the room, now revealed as a safe divided into many compartments. Hetty perceived him at the first glance; perceived, standing at his side, a man with a sardonic mocking face and a scar over the right eye who peered over his shoulder.
In a blind whirl of impulse she whipped out the automatic, rushed up close, and fired—into thin air!