But Frank Mansfield did not heed him.
He no more believed in ghosts than did Caleb Hook.
If the woman by the side of whose dead body he had knelt in the house on Catherine street had been his poor, insane mother, driven mad by such a combination of afflictions as woman is seldom called upon to bear, then who was this?
He needed no encouragement from the man by his side to spur him on to solve the mystery for himself.
The day had been clear and more than unusually warm, causing the snow to soften considerably, but as night had approached the thermometer had fallen, forming a hard crust upon the smooth surface among the stones.
With a bound Frank reached the point in the church-yard at which the apparition had appeared, Detective Hook pressing close behind.
It was unoccupied by human form.
The headstones were there, the shadows of the church were there, the leafless branches of the great trees rattled gloomily above their heads.
But the woman whose warning words had fallen so plainly upon their ears was nowhere to be seen.
She had disappeared—disappeared, leaving no trace behind.