unmistakable. The steps came nearer and nearer, and then came a
repetition of that dull thud in a distant room.

"I want to go home," moaned Rusty.

Jarvis had drawn his revolver again, and he was standing close to the
stairs.

"Great Scott, Rusty! The man with the smoky lantern has been up these
stairs. There are oil drippings, still fresh."

"You-all ain't going up, is you?" pleaded Rusty.

"Not at all. Because this Mr. Ghost or some of his spooky friends are
probably waiting at the top of the stairs with a long gun, and I'm no
book hero."

"Suppose it might be dat dere Mrs. Princess'es brother?"

"Well, he might blow my head off because he doesn't know what I came
here for, and if it's someone else they'd blow it off because they do
know why I'm here. There's somebody trying to scare us, Rusty. They're
probably watching every move we make.... That's where that pounding
comes from--why don't they shoot?... They're trying to scare us as they
did the poor boobs down in the village."

Rusty crossed toward the fireplace. He picked up an old mallet and
chisel from the mantel, which was brighter now from the fire. He cried
out in surprise:

"Look yere, Marse Warren. Look yere!"

He handed the tools over to the astounded Jarvis. "I found 'em on dat
mantelpiece!"

Jarvis ran to the mantelpiece and clambered up on a chair, holding the
lantern close to the wall.

"Good boy, Rusty! These are the Ghost's tools, all right. Someone was
working in this room--but we've beaten him to it.... Mortar on the
floor ... mortar on the mantle!... Look here at these stones. That's
where he was working, Rusty, and we've beaten him to it."

He stopped, and both of them turned simultaneously to look at the big
picture of the historical Spaniard. Rusty had drawn his own revolver,
with Jarvis doing the same by a curious instinct.

"Did you feel dat, too, Marse Warren?" asked the frightened negro.

Jarvis said nothing. He went to the picture and, lighting a match,
passed it all around the frame, examining it, without the discovery of
a suspicious thing. He turned away, then faced it once more as he
backed toward the low balustrade of the steps over which stood one of
the suits of armor.

"By George, that's weird. You could feel that just as plain...."

Rusty was still looking with fascination at the picture.

"It sure is, Marse Warren, it sure is...." He turned slowly, facing
Warren Jarvis. He had just time for one piercing h