“Our ghost was a thin person.”
“Yeah, I was thinking that,” agreed Joe. “Maybe Deming’s got a sick relative or something.”
The explanation did not satisfy Penny. With troubled eyes she gazed toward the rambling old house which by daylight looked so deserted. No smoke curled from the chimneys. Had it not been for a trail of footprints along the fence, she easily could have convinced herself that she had imagined the events of the previous night.
“Say, who’s that trackin’ through the fields?” Joe suddenly demanded.
Penny turned to glance in the direction that the cabman pointed. Her heart did a little flip-flop. A woman in a long black coat, market basket on her arm, was hastening toward the rear door of the estate house.
“Stop the cab, Joe!” she cried.
The car came to a halt with a little sideways skid. Leaping out, Penny plunged through the drifts and was able to confront the woman at the rear gate of the premises.
“How do you do,” she greeted her breathlessly.
The woman was so startled that she nearly dropped her market basket. Confused, she stammered a reply and started to unlock the gate.
“Just a moment, please,” requested Penny. “May I come inside and talk to you?”