He was answered by a laugh, and some joking words—
"Don't throttle me quite, Jan. Even a ghost can't stand that."
The tone of the laugh, the tone of the voice, fell upon Jan Verner's ears with the most intense astonishment. He peered into the speaker's face with his keen eyes, and gave vent to an exclamation. In spite of the whiskerless cheeks, the elaborate black mark, in spite of the strange likeness to his brother, Jan recognised the features, not of Frederick, but of John Massingbird.
CHAPTER LXVII.
DRESSING UP FOR A GHOST.
And so the mystery was out. And the ghost proved to be no ghost at all—to be no husband of Sibylla—come to disturb the peace of her and of Lionel; but John Massingbird in real flesh and blood.
There was so much explanation to ask and to be given, that Jan was somewhat hindered on his way to Hook's.
"I can't stop," said he, in the midst of a long sentence of John's. "Alice Hook may be dying. Will you remain here until I come back?"
"If you are not long," responded John Massingbird. "I intend this to be the last night of my concealment, and I want to go about, terrifying the natives. The fun it has been!"