“Ghosts from Mrs. Wood’s,” suggested a sepulchral voice behind them, and although they all knew it came from the lips of Zebedee Fuller, there was a very general disposition to regard their search as completed.
“He’s got away, whoever he was,” remarked George Brayton, “but the question is, how?”
Did the bell mean to laugh at them?
They were halfway down the stairway just then, and the tolling burst forth in a sudden fit of half frantic violence that almost made one of the trustees lose his footing.
That was quite enough for George Brayton, however, and he quietly said to the rest:
“I’m going back. Please tell Mr. Vernon I wish he would come up here.”
“Now you’re in for it,” said Val, as he heard the message delivered.
“No, Val,” said Bar, “it’s all right. If I don’t go up they’ll find it out. I must shut it off for this time.”
“Shall I come along?”
“Better not. One’s enough.”