Unless, Rick thought, the Blue Ghost was hovering nearby, snickering at the success of his efforts.
Thankful that it was a warm night, he removed his garments one at a time and wrung the water from them. The surface of the quarry pool caught the yellow light of the waning fire as he poured water from his shoes. He was very thoughtful. What was the meaning of the night's events?
His wringing out finished and his damp clothes back on, he sat down on the limestone shelf to be as comfortable as possible while waiting.
He had set out at top speed to catch a ghost, but the ghost had caught Richard Brant. He wasn't sure what that meant, but he was sure it meant something. He shivered, as much from reaction as the dampness. Maybe time would tell.
CHAPTER VII
The Frostola Man
Rick Brant was filled with cold anger. It showed in the determined set of his lips as he swung Dr. Miller's car around the turn leading to the bridge across the creek. He was no longer content to wait for developments. After last night's episode, he and Scotty intended to take the war to the enemy—for war it had become, the moment the Blue Ghost had led them on the wild-goose chase ending with Rick in a deep quarry.
It was pure luck that Rick had not been hurt by the drop into the quarry. True, the ghost had led them to the side that dropped sheer into the water, but impact with the water after a fifty-foot drop was enough to cause damage if one landed in the wrong position. Rick had hit feet first, simply by chance.
Scotty looked at him as the car turned toward the picnic grounds. "Aren't we going to town?"