“Poor restless soul!” whispered Mrs. Weems.
Penny gave the housekeeper a tiny pinch to break the spell which had fallen upon her. “That’s no ghost,” she whispered. “Don’t you see! It’s a man wearing a heavy white bathrobe over his clothing. He’s pulled the wide collar up over his head like a hood!”
“It’s a man all right,” added the taxi driver. “You can tell by the way he walks. Ghosts kinda slither, don’t they?”
“I believe it’s someone imprisoned on the grounds!” Penny whispered tensely. “Watch!”
The ghost, his face shadowed, rattled the chain again. Then with a distinct, audible sigh, he turned and tramped back along the fence away from the gate.
“Aw, that spook could get out if he wanted to,” muttered the taxi driver. “Why don’t he climb over the fence?”
“Perhaps the man is a sleep walker,” suggested Mrs. Weems nervously. “Whoever he is, the poor fellow should be in his bed.”
Penny was determined to learn the identity of the man. Moving to the gate, she called softly. The figure in white whirled around, looking straight toward her.
Penny caught a fleeting impression of a lean, startled face. Then the man turned and fled toward the house. No longer could there be any doubt that he was a man, for as he ran the legs of his woolen pajamas showed beneath the white robe.
“Wait!” Penny called. “Please wait!”