Beverly merely nodded.
At the further end of the room something glowed uncannily. Then two figures stole into a patch of moonlight, one tall and tattered; the other enveloped in a long garment which resembled a girl’s coat, and from out the darkness came a sepulchral whisper:
“Where the dickens did you say that key was?”
“Under the last side-horse,” Beverly whispered back. “Can’t you find it?”
“Ah, I looked under the first one,” was the disgusted answer.
“Did you get the box?”
“Yes, I’ve got it all O. K.,” replied the taller figure, “and now we’re going to beat it. Good-night. Did you get ragged again?”
“Nothing stirring, but we wanted to be sure you got the eats. They’re great. Good-night,” whispered Beverly.
“So long,” and spook number one having evidently found the key in question made for a door which gave upon the rear terrace. Just as he was about to insert the key the door was opened from the outside and Wesley’s wooley head was outlined in the moonlight. The spooks darted behind the refreshment table and the three watchers dropped into inconspicuous heaps upon the gallery floor.
Wesley had entered with his pass key in compliance with Mrs. Bonnell’s orders. The maids who were to help him had lingered to get their trays. Wesley would have given a good deal could the clearing up have been deferred until the light of day, but he was obliged to obey Mrs. Bonnell.