“There he is—there’s Old Lonely’s ghost!” palpitated the lady’s voice. “There’s his dog, too! See! see!”
“Let’s get nearer. Let’s land,” suggested a man. But, somehow, there was a false note in his words, which seemed to betray that he was not as eager to put his feet on the island as he wished the others to think him.
“I wouldn’t do it for all the money in the world,” declared the lady. “We’re near enough. Don’t move another inch toward that island.”
For thirty seconds, perhaps, Granger stood quite still; and then, stepping backward, he retreated as slowly, silently and deliberately as he had advanced; and in this manner he must have made it seem to the occupants of the boat that he actually faded and vanished from their view like a wraith. The dog also retreated slowly, although it turned about to do so.
“Great work,” chuckled Piper, as Granger crouched beside him. “But what if they do land?”
“They won’t,” was the whispered assurance. “They’ll go away directly.”
He was right. After lingering a few minutes, as if desiring again to see the “ghost,” the party in the boat rowed away, their oars clanking in the locks.
CHAPTER XXVII.
THE SECRET.
“I wish you’d tell me one or two things that I don’t quite understand, Mr. Granger,” said Sleuth, as they retraced their steps through the woods. “For instance, there’s the mysterious ticking of the unseen clock in the hermit’s hut.”