Hatch shook his head.
"It isn't a spook, of course," the broker went on, with a nervous smile; "but-but I'm sorry I went. I don't think probably I shall have the work done there as I thought."
They slept only fitfully and took an early train back to Boston. As they were almost to separate at the South Station, the broker had a last word.
"I'm going to solve that thing," he declared, determinedly. "I know one man at least who isn't afraid of it-or of anything else. I'm going to send him down to keep a lookout and take care of the place. His name is O'Heagan, and he's a fighting Irishman. If he and that-that-THING ever get mixed up together--"
Like a schoolboy with a hopeless problem, Hatch went straight to The Thinking Machine with the latest developments. The scientist paused just long enough in his work to hear it.
"Did you notice the handwriting?" he demanded.
"Yes," was the reply; "so far as I could notice the style of a handwriting that floated in air."
"Man's or woman's?"
Hatch was puzzled.
"I couldn't judge," he said. "It seemed to be a bold style, whatever it was. I remember the capital D clearly."
"Was it anything like the handwriting of the broker-what's-his-name?-Ernest Weston?"
"I never saw his handwriting."
"Look at some of it, then, particularly the capital D's," instructed The Thinking Machine. Then, after a pause: "You say the figure is white and seems to be flaming?"
"Yes."
"Does it give out any light? That is, does it light up a room, for instance?"
"I don't quite know what you mean."
"When you go into a room with a lamp," explained The Thinking Machine, "it lights the room. Does this thing do it? Can you see the floor or walls or anything by the light of the figure itself?"
"No," replied Hatch, positively.
"I'll go down with you to-morrow night," said the scientist, as if that were all.
"Thanks," replied Hatch, and he went away.
Next day about noon he called at Ernest Weston's office. The broker was in.
"Did you send down your man O'Heagan?" he asked.
"Yes," said the broker, and he was almost smiling.
"What happened?"
"He's outside. I'll let him tell you."
The broker went to the door and spoke to some one and O'Heagan entered. He was a big, blue-eyed Irishman, frankly freckled and red-headed-one of those men who look trouble in the face and are glad of it if the trouble can be reduced to a fighting basis. An everlasting smile was about his lips, only now it was a bit faded.
"Tell Mr. Hatch what happened last night," requested the broker.
O'Heagan told it. He, too, had sought to get hold of the flaming figure. As he ran for it, it disappeared, was obliterated, wiped out, gone, and he found himself groping in the darkness of the room beyond, the library. Like Hatch, he took the nearest way out, which happened to be through a window already smashed.
"Outside," he went on, "I began to think about it, and I saw there was nothing to be afraid of, but you couldn't have convinced me of that when I was inside. I took a lantern in one hand and a revolver in the other and went all over that house. There was nothing; if there had been we would have had it out right there. But there was nothing. So I started out to the barn, where I had put a cot in a room.
"I went upstairs to this room-it was then about two o'clock-and went to sleep. It seemed to be an hour or so later when I awoke suddenly-I knew something was happening. And the Lord forgive me if I'm a liar, but there was a cat-a ghost cat in my room, racing around like mad. I just naturally got up to see what was the matter and rushed for the door. The cat beat me to it, and cut a flaming streak through the night.
"The cat looked just like the thing inside the house-that is, it was a sort of shadowy, waving white light like it might be afire. I went back to bed in disgust, to sleep it off. You see, sir," he apologized to Weston, "that there hadn't been anything yet I could put my hands on."
"Was that all?" asked Hatch, smilingly.
"Just the beginning. Next morning when I awoke I was bound to my cot, hard and fast. My hands were tied and my feet were tied, and all I could do was lie there and yell. After awhile, it seemed years, I heard some one outside and shouted louder than ever. Then the constable come up and let me loose. I told him all about it-and then I came to Boston. And with your permission, Mr. Weston, I resign right now. I'm not afraid of anything I can fight, but when I can't get hold of it-well--"
Later Hatch joined The Thinking Machine. They caught a train for the little village by the sea. On the way The Thinking Machine asked a few questions, but most of the time he was silent, squinting out the window. Hatch respected his silence, and only answered questions.
"Did you see Ernest Weston's handwriting?" was the first of these.
"Yes."
"The capital D's?"
"They are not unlike the one the-the THING wrote, but they are not wholly like it," was the reply.
"Do you know anyone in Providence who can get some information for you?" was the next query.
"Yes."
"Get him by long-distance 'phone when we get to this place and let me talk to him a moment."
Half an hour later The Thinking Machine was talking over the long-distance 'phone to the Providence correspondent of Hatch's paper. What he said or what he learned there was not revealed to the wondering reporter, but he came out after several minutes, only to re-enter the booth and remain for another half an hour.
"Now," he said.
Together they went to the haunted house. At the entrance to the grounds something else occurred to The Thinking Machine.
"Run over to the 'phone and call Weston," he directed. "Ask him if he has a motor-boat or if his cousin has one. We might need one. Also find out what kind of a boat it is-electric or gasoline."
Hatch returned to the village and left the scientist alone, sitting on the veranda gazing out over the sea. When Hatch returned he was still in the same position.
"Well?" he asked.
"Ernest Weston has no motor-boat," the reporter informed him. "George Weston has an electric, but we can't get it because it is away. Maybe I can get one somewhere else if you particularly want it."
"Never mind," said The Thinking Machine. He spoke as if he had entirely lost interest in the matter.
Together they started around the house to the kitchen door.