He had just become conscious of a clock that ticked loudly in a corner, when a low gasp caught his attention.
Without knowing why, he fixed his eyes upon the one small window. Other eyes were fixed upon that narrow window. How many pairs of eyes? Who could say? It was dark.
Something was moving by the window. Not a person—no, surely not that! A skull perhaps, an ugly skull with hollow eye sockets from which a pale light gleamed. A sigh passed over the room like the low moan of the sea at night.
And then something stranger happened. The skull disappeared and a ghost with bones bleached white and a long, flowing sheet went racing away across an empty space beside the building. Again the long sigh swept across the room.
And then the lights went on. These lights disclosed eight gentlemen standing just as they had stood before, staring rather stupidly at one another—the three alike, the big man and his son, the little one with glittering eyes and the other two. Drew Lane had vanished.
For a full minute by the clock on the wall they stood there staring at one another. Then the big man said in a loud voice:
“The Galloping Ghost!” After which he let forth a roar of laughter that suggested a crazy baboon roaring in the night.
Ten minutes later the place was raided by the police. There was no one there.
One fact about this affair seems important. Drew Lane retained possession of the automatic that had fallen on the floor. This automatic was the key to a situation. What situation? This, for a while, was to remain a mystery.