“Well that’s—something, over there,” declared Ed. “And I—see it—move!” He slackened the speed of the car.
“Now for real ghosts!” Walter could not refrain from remarking, although the situation was far from reassuring.
“This is a cemetery, all right,” went on Jack. “What’s the use of us ploughing over—graves? Let’s get out. We took the wrong turn, I guess.”
“Let’s give a call,” suggested Walter, at the same moment squeezing two or three loud “honk-honks” on his horn.
“Hark!”
“Honk! Honk! Honk—honk—honk!”
“That’s Cora’s signal,” shouted Jack. “Hurry on ahead, Walter. They are some place in this cemetery.”
But it was not so easy to hurry over the gruesome driveway, for it was narrow and uncertain, and the heavy rains had washed out so many holes, that the boys felt an uncanny fear that a sudden turn might precipitate them into some strange grave.
“Where are you!” yelled Jack at the top of his voice. “Turn on your lights!” pleaded Walter, without waiting for a possible answer. “We can’t tell where you are!”
As quickly as it could have been possible to do so, the strong searchlight of a car (surely it was Cora’s) gleamed over the shafts of stone, and marble, that now seemed like so many pyramids, erected to confuse the way of the alarmed young men.