Ten seconds later, she was back on tiptoe, her face white with terror.
“The hearse!” she whispered hoarsely. “There are now two black horses and a coffin. It moves! Oh, it moves!”
It was a full five minutes before even the stout-hearted Florence found courage to drive her reluctant feet down the long room. When she did, and had taken one look out of the window, she returned in haste.
“It’s gone,” she murmured hoarsely, “the hearse is gone!”
“I told you!” Jeanne repeated. “Two black horses and a coffin.”
“Haunts!” Jensie’s tone was solemn. “The hearse will be back there in the morning.”
“Will it?” Florence asked herself.
Gliding silently out of the room, they locked the door, then hurried away into the darkness with not a single backward look.
CHAPTER XV
TRANSFORMING A MOUNTAIN
If Jeanne carried her heart in her mouth as she passed through the gate and walked out on the lot of that “Little Bit of Hollywood” in Chicago that day, neither her face nor her feet betrayed her. She was smiling. Her feet moved in a sort of rhythmic motion that was almost a dance.