"Been seeing a ghost?" he asked.
"No; just hearing one," I replied.
I had yet to offer some pretext for leaving him, and as I walked the length of the room he stifled a yawn, his eyes falling upon the line of French windows. I spoke of the heat of the night, but he did not answer, and I turned to find his gaze fixed upon one of the open windows.
"What is it, man?" I demanded.
He crossed the room in a leap and was out upon the terrace, peering down upon the shrubbery beneath.
"What's the row?" I demanded.
"Didn't you see it?"
"No."
"Then it wasn't anything. I thought I saw the dago, if you must know. He'll probably be around looking for us."
"Humph, you're a little nervous, that's all. You'll stay here all night, of course?" I asked, without, I fear, much enthusiasm.