I was going to say something more—perhaps to try to excuse myself for my credulity—but Godfrey silenced me with a gesture. We had crept along in the shadow of the adjoining building until we were beside the entrance to the Magnus house.
"Maybe he'll go out the back way," I breathed.
"There isn't any back way. All built up. It's this way, or none."
The thought occurred to me that a brick wall would make no difference to a spirit, but I felt that I was lapsing into a state of imbecility, and stood silent, shivering a little. For it had started to drizzle again.
Then from the direction of the house came the sound of a door softly closing, and I saw a shadow flit down the steps. It certainly looked like a ghost; but I heard Godfrey chuckle softly; then, with a bound, he was upon the figure and had it by the throat. I caught the sound of a sharp struggle, but it was over before I could collect myself sufficiently to go to Godfrey's assistance.
When I did get there I found him grimly surveying a small and wizened creature, whose arm he had linked to his own by means of a handcuff.
"Lester," he said, "allow me to introduce you to the ghost of Peter
Magnus—otherwise Mr. Jemmy Blum, the Tom Thumb of con men. Jemmy," he
added, "aren't you ashamed to be playing such tricks on my friend, Mr.
Lester?"
The small creature's eyes twinkled maliciously as he glanced up at me.
"Ho," he said contemptuously, "'twasn't no trick to fool him. But I didn't know he was your friend. If I had, I'd 'a' let him alone."