to
give voice it would have been a relief to both of them. His mute
anxiety added to the weirdness of the proceedings, and Graeme
experienced a novel creeping about the nape of the neck.

Ghosts or no ghosts, however, it had to be looked into. He picked up a
heavy boot, turned the key, and flung open the door. Punch went down
the stairs in two long bounds, and a rush of cold air put out the
candle. He laid it down and followed cautiously, ready to launch the
boot at the first sign of uncanniness.

The rush of night air came through a small pantry opening off the
hall. The window in it was wide open, and there was no sign of Punch.
He and the ghost had evidently gone through that way. Graeme and the
boot followed.

It was a dark night between moons. The velvet-black vault was
brilliant with stars, but the earth was full of shadows. The fleshy
leaves of the eucalyptus trees showed pale against the darkness. The
night wind set them rustling eerily. From somewhere beyond them, past
the dark hedge, there came a sound of subdued strife. Graeme clutched
his boot and sped towards it, drenched with dew from every disturbed
branch.

The sounds led him into the potato patch in the lower garden, and in
the dimness he became aware that Punch was standing on something that
struggled to get up and was held down by the great brown paws and
body.

No ghost, evidently. Graeme dropped his boot and stooped and laid hold
of the struggler, and knew in a moment, in spite of his own
disturbance of mind, that this ghost at all events had materialised
into the bodily form of Master Johnnie Vautrin, and he wondered how
many more might have done the same if they had been followed up as
closely.

He lifted the squirming small boy who had not spoken a word.

"So this is what Sark ghosts are made of, is it, Master Johnnie?" he
asked, giving him a shake. "You little scamp! For once you shall have
what you jolly well deserve," and he carried him, kicking and
wriggling, back to the house, shoved him through the window, and held
him with one hand while he got through himself. Punch followed with
an easy bound, and they all went upstairs. Graeme found his candle,
and lit it and looked at his prisoner.

Johnnie was covered with mould from the potato patch, but his black
eyes gleamed through it as brightly as ever, and, as far as Graeme
could distinguish through its masking, his face showed no sign of
confusion.

"Do you know what we do with