"They were off in no time. It was a fine horse they rode.
"I wasn't in it at any stage of the game. I ran myself out at the end of about a mile.
"They had disappeared in the darkness, but they were taking the road toward this place, and on a venture I came over. I hoped to connect with you, and get instructions."
"That was right. Come with me."
"What's up?"
"A ghost hunt, unless I'm very much mistaken. I guess we can join it without any trouble."
They made their way into the old portion of the house.
In the hall from which the broad stone stairs led up to the second floor they paused a moment to listen.
Steps were approaching. Before they could get into a place of concealment a door opened, and Colonel Richmond entered.
He carried a small lamp in his hand. Horace followed him.
"Gilder!" cried the colonel, seeing Nick disguised as the coachman. "Why were you not present in the parlor?"
"I've just got back to the house, sir," rejoined the detective, imitating Gilder's Yankee twang".
"Who's that with you?"
"My cousin, Frank Gilder."
"What's he doing here?"
"If you please, sir, I brought him over to spend the night with me. The footman and I don't get along very well together, and I don't like to be alone in a room in this house, sir, just now."
"So!" said the colonel. "I understand that you have seen strange things.
Very well; I am going to investigate this matter. I shall pass the remainder of the night in the dining-hall above."
The colonel led the way up the stairs. The whole party followed him.
"May I ask where the other servants are, sir?" said Nick.
"They will pass the night in the new part of the house," returned Horace Richmond, with a grim smile. "You can do so if you like."
"No, sir," said Nick; "I think I'd rather sleep in my own room so long as my cousin is with me."
At the head of the stairs they turned at once toward the old dining-hall.
It was proper for Nick to follow, for the nearest way to Gilder's room led in that direction.
It was exactly midnight when they opened the door of the old dining-hall. A cool breath of air swept out upon them, for the thick stone walls of this part of the house resisted the hot weather, and this room had been kept closed.
The colonel shivered slightly in the draught.
He paused on the threshold for a moment, and looked into the room. It was lighted--except for the feeble ray from the lamp--only by the faint moonlight which found its way in through the hall and narrow windows, partly overgrown with clinging vines.
The whole party entered. The colonel set his lamp upon the sideboard.
He turned to speak to the supposed Gilder, probably with the intention of sending him at once to his room.
But at that moment the lamp suddenly went out.
With a low cry the colonel sprang toward it. The lamp was not there.
It had been removed. The room was almost totally dark.
The colonel lit a match. There was no sign of the lamp. It had utterly vanished.
As the burned match fell to the floor a beam of light suddenly shot across the gloom.
And there, before the old-fashioned fire-place, stood a figure corresponding in every particular to Lavina Richmond as she appeared in a portrait painted just previous to her death, and hanging at that moment in the colonel's room.
There was no sound in the room except the labored breathing of the excited old man, whose faith was now fully justified to his mind.
He was gazing straight at this apparition.
It was veiled, and the heavy folds of a black silk dress in the style of many years ago hung loosely about the form.
Immediately a white hand appeared. The veil was lifted, disclosing the thin and pale face of a woman of advanced age and feeble health. The likeness of Lavina Richmond was perfect.
The colonel tried to speak, but his voice stuck in his throat.
Slowly the veil descended. Nick made a sign to Patsy, who had pressed up a little in advance.
He had kept an eye over his shoulder, however, to be sure of getting any orders from his chief.
There was light enough to see the signal. Patsy sprang forward toward the specter.
The distance separating them was not more than twenty feet. The athletic youth would have covered it in a twinkling.
But suddenly he fell to the floor with a smothered groan.
"I'm hit hard," he cried; and, raising himself upon one knee, with his left hand pressed to his temple, he drew a revolver with the other.
"Don't shoot!" exclaimed Nick. "It's Millie Stevens!"
The detective made a bound toward the figure.
The light which had played full upon it wavered, as if about to vanish.
Yet there was time. Nick felt sure of his prize, as he sprang out from his place beside the colonel.