“Listen! By Jove, that voice came from the cellar.”
“And the lock is broken,” she exclaimed. “But how silly of me! Ghosts don't stop for locks.”
“I 'll drop the bolts just the same,” he said, as they hurried down the hallway. At the back stairs they stopped and listened for many minutes. Not a sound came up to them from below. Softly he closed the door and lowered two heavy bars into place. “If there's any one down there they probably think they've heard spooks trotting around up here.”
“Really, it's quite thrilling, isn't it?” she whispered, in her excitement.
“In any event, we're obliged to remain under cover until they depart,” he said thoughtfully. “We can't be seen here, dearest.”
“No,” she murmured, “not even though it is our house.”
They returned to the big room as softly as mice and he left her a moment later to close the heavy window shutters on the porch. When he returned there was a grim smile on his face and his voice shook a little as he spoke.
“I've heard the voices again. They came from the laundry, I think. The Renwoods were downright Yankees, Penelope; I will swear that these voices are amazingly English.”