A TERRIFIED TRIO.
Duncan Ditson tried to speak, but his dry tongue clove to the roof of
his mouth and his heart seemed on the point of bursting in his throat.
Lynch, having turned to look over his shoulder, sat like an image of
stone, the color slipping from his usually ruddy face and leaving it
almost as ghostly as that dead-white face seen beyond the open panel.
One of Mike’s hands lay half-closed upon the table. It began to shake,
causing his finger nails to rattle upon the uncovered top of the table
like the faint far-away tapping of castanets.
From the lips of Du Boise, who had lately boasted that he would feel no
terror were he brought face to face with the wraith of Dick Merriwell,
there issued a sibilant hissing breath followed by a quavering whisper:
“It’s the dead! It’s Merriwell’s ghost! We are haunted—haunted!”
There was a thud as he slipped from the chair on which he had been
sitting and fell limp and fainting upon the floor. The lights came on
with full force. An unseen hand closed the sliding panel, hiding that
death-white face from the staring eyes of Lynch and Ditson.
Still those two frightened fellows sat immovable, their bodies cold as
ice for some moments after the apparition vanished.
Ditson was the one who broke the spell. Grasping the edge of the table,
he rose to his feet, upsetting his chair, which fell with a clatter upon
the floor.
“Lynch,” he whispered hoarsely; “Lynch, for Heaven’s sake tell me what
you saw!”
Mike gave himself a little shake and turned his horrified eyes toward
his companion. His face was ashen, and there was a purple ring around
his mouth. At the corners of his nose, extending downward, were two deep
lines. His voice was husky and unsteady as he answered:
“I don’t know what I saw, but it looked like the dead face of——”
He paused, apparently unable to speak Merriwell’s name.
“And I saw it, too!” groaned Duncan. “So did Du Boise. He’s fainted,
Mike. We must call assistance.”
At this juncture, however, Hal began to show symptoms of reviving. He
gasped and moaned, moving his limbs weakly. Ditson stooped and bent over
him, seizing his collar and breaking it loose with a twisting jerk. The
touch of Duncan’s hand seemed to revive Hal, but apparently it filled
the fellow with unspeakable terror, for he shrank away, choking forth a
cry and beginning to quiver violently in every limb.
“Why, don’t you ring a bell, Lynch?” said Duncan. “Du Boise is having a
fit. He may be dying for all I know.”
But Lynch, leaning forward with his elbows on the table, had covered his
face with his hands as if seeking in that manner to shut out a terrible
vision which he could not otherwise dismiss. There was a strange
stooping slouch to his broad, thick shoulders—a droop throughout his
entire figure like that which assails an old man or a younger one who
has felt the crushing hand of some fearful calamity.
With his legs beneath the table, Du Boise began to mutter and mumble
incoherently. Although he seemed suffering from terror, he finally fell
to laughing in a hysterical manner, whereupon Duncan once more clutched
him by the shoulder and gave him a shake.
“Stop it! stop it!” commanded Ditson. “Are you losing your senses? Get
up!”
“Don’t! don’t! don’t!” gasped Hal, shrinking away. “I’m all right. I’ll
be all right in a minute. Did I faint? I’m a fool! That’s right, Ditson,
give me a hand. Help me up. Oh, how ridiculous! Oh, what a fool I am!”
But the moment he was lifted he turned his eyes fearsomely toward the
panel in the wall. On seeing it closed he seemed inexpressibly relieved.
With Duncan’s aid he regained his seat at the table, although he still
seemed dizzy and weak.
“Never did that before in all my life,” he whispered apologetically.
“Wasn’t it a silly trick? Don’t laugh at me—don’t laugh!”
“I’m not laughing, Du Boise.”
“I beg your pardon if I frightened you by yelling the way I did. I
thought I saw something. Of course I know I was deceived. It must have
been a hallucination. Perhaps it was the effect of what I’ve drank.
Perhaps the absinthe is beginning to go back on me. If it is, what can I
turn to next? What’s the matter with Mike?”
At this moment all three were given another frightful start, for the
panel was shot back with a rattling sound, causing them to turn with a
jerk and face it. The face of the waiter who had served their drinks
appeared at the opening.
“What’s the matter in there?” he inquired. “T’ought I heard somebody
give a yelp. T’ought I heard somet’ing bump on the floor. Didn’t know
but youse chaps was havin’ a mix-up.”
“Say, Martie, come in here a minute,” invited Duncan, quickly rising and
unfastening the door.
The waiter stepped into the room, still wearing a suspicious air as he
eyed the pale-faced trio.
“Anyt’ing wrong?” he interrogated.
“I guess not,” answered Duncan slowly. “You see we were talking over
private matters, and so we fastened the door. We didn’t want any one to
come in on us.”
“Dat’s all right. We know youse fellers here, and if yer want ter use
dis room dat way when dere’s no game nor nuttin’ goin’ on, dere’s no
objection.”
“We didn’t wish any one to overhear what we had to say. While we were
talking somebody sneaked up there and slid open the panel. They must
have turned off the lights, too.”
“Turned off der lights?”
“Yes. The lights went out and then came on again, although they were dim
at first. There’s a switch outside the door, I believe?”
“Sure t’ing, dere’s a switch out dere, but I don’t see who it was dat
monkeyed wit’ it.”
“Didn’t you encounter any one on the stairs?”
“No.”
“Any fellows in the other room?”
“Dey just went out about five minutes ago.”
“Of course you know Dick Merriwell by sight?”
“I t’ink I do. Everybody knows him.”
“Has he been in the place to-night?”
“He don’t come around this place much of any unless he’s lookin’ for
some of his friends.”
“Have you seen him to-night?”
“No.”
“Where were you when you thought you heard a scream and a fall in this
room?”
“I was out back tappin’ a barrel of ale.”
“And you came upstairs at once?”
“Soon as I could. ’Twan’t more dan a minute.”
“But that was time enough for an eavesdropper to slip downstairs without
being caught by you. Somebody was listening there at the panel. We all
saw the person. That’s why we raised a rumpus. There’s no trouble
between us, Martie. Everything’s all right. But if you catch anybody
listening around that slide, jump on ’em and kick them downstairs. Bring
us another round of drinks. I reckon we need them. I’ll have the same,
and Lynch will, too. You’d better switch off that stuff you’re drinking,
Du Boise. It isn’t good for you.”
“Can’t switch now,” said Hal. “Just one more, Martie. It’ll be my last
to-night. Just one more.”
When the waiter had disappeared and the door was fastened behind him
Ditson came back and stood by the table, looking inquiringly at his two
companions.
“Well, what do you think of it?” he finally forced himself to inquire,
ineffectually trying to assume an air of nonchalance. “It certainly
looked like the real thing to me, and it scared Du Boise out of his
senses.”
“Then you saw something, did you?” whispered Hal. “Tell me what it was.”
“I thought I saw a face.”
“I know I saw a face,” said Lynch. “Fellows, we’re haunted! This is the
first time I’ve ever acknowledged a belief in ghosts, but I’ve got to
acknowledge it now. The face I saw was that of Merriwell, and we know he
is lying at the bottom of the harbor.”
“Don’t talk that way—don’t!” implored Du Boise. “It was a hallucination.
It could have been nothing else.”
“How does it happen that we were all deceived by the same
hallucination?” questioned Ditson. “There’s something you can’t explain,
Hal. You saw it first and uttered a yell. We turned and looked. I
confess that I saw it as distinctly as I ever saw anything in my life.
It was ghastly pale with wide-open eyes which struck terror to my heart.
By Jove! I got such a start that I’m afraid I’ll never have any more
nerve. I wish Martie would hurry up with those drinks. I’m still cold
from my head to my heels.”
To the relief of the agitated trio of rascals, Martie now appeared with
a tray that bore the ordered drinks. Ditson relieved the waiter, handing
out the money supplied by Du Boise. When Martie had vanished and they
were again sitting around the table, Duncan lifted his glass with a
quivering hand.
“Here’s hoping we’ve seen it for the last time,” he muttered.
“For the last time,” echoed Lynch hoarsely. “I hope so, but I fear it’s
only the beginning.”