Jack paused and listened. They were light and quick, like those of a woman—up and down, up and down, now pausing a moment, now briskly resuming, as though the walker was anxiously waiting for someone.
On tiptoe Jack went back to the door, suddenly flung it open and flashed the lantern. As quickly the steps had ceased. Not a moving object was to be seen.
Immensely puzzled, Jack withdrew, and stepped to the instrument table. As he reached toward the telegraph key from almost directly overhead broke out a thundering rumble, as of a heavy wooden ball bounding down the roof.
Catching up the lantern, he once more rushed forth. Immediately, as before, all was silence. Nervous at last, in spite of himself, Jack hesitated, then resolutely set forth on a complete round of the station and freight shed, throwing the lantern light upon the roof, through the dusty windows, and into every nook and corner. Nowhere was there a sign of life.
He returned. The moment he closed the office door the rumble broke out afresh.
Jack sprang to the instruments, called Exeter, and sent rapidly, “Al, that ‘ghost’ is here, and in spite of me, is beginning to get on my—”
The line opened, then sharply clicked: “Look behind! Look behind!”
With a cry Jack was on his feet, and had started for the door. Half way he pulled up, with a determined effort controlled his panic, and returned to the key. “I suppose you didn’t hear that, Al?” he asked.
“Not a letter.”
“Well, good gracious, what—Oh!”