e to escape notice, being mostly
sheet herself. But it was Saturday, and all the linen had gone down. A
long, slippery, inclined chute connected the room with the laundry in
the basement two floors below. Steps were already audible in the
passage. She heard Miss Lord's voice say:

"Bring a light! We'll search the linen closet."

Patty did not hesitate. In imagination she could already feel the
pressure of Miss Lord's grasp upon her shoulder. A broken neck was
preferable.

Still hugging the lemon pie--in all her excitement she had clasped it
firmly--she climbed into the chute, stretched her feet out straight in
front, and pushed off. For two breathless seconds she dashed through
space, then her feet hit the trap door at the bottom, and she shot into
the laundry.

One instant earlier, the door from the kitchen stairs had cautiously
opened, and a man had darted into the laundry. He had just had time to
cast a glance of boundless relief about the empty, moonlit room, when
Patty and the pie catapulted against him. They went down together in a
whirl of waving wings. Patty being on top picked herself up first. She
still clutched her pie--at least what was left of it; the white meringue
was spread over the man's hair and face; but the lemon part was still
intact. The man sat up dazedly, rubbed the meringue from his eyes, cast
one look at his assailant, and staggered to his feet. He flattened
himself against the wall with arms thrown wide for support.

"Holy gee!" he choked. "What in hell uv I got into?"

Patty excused his language, as he did not appear to know that he was
addressing a lady. He seemed to be laboring under the impression that
she was the devil.

Her pillow slip by now was very much askew; one ear pointed northward,
the other southeast, and she could only see out of one eye. It was very
hot inside and she was gasping for breath. For a palpitating moment they
merely stared and panted. Then Patty's mind began to work.

"I suppose," she suggested, "you are the burglar they are screaming
about?"

The man leaned back limply and stared, his wide, frightened eyes
shining through a fringe of meringue.

"I," said Patty, completing the introduction, "am the ghost."

He muttered something under his breath. She could not make out whether
he was praying or swearing.

"Don't be afraid," she added kindly. "I won't hurt you."

"Is it a bloomin' insane asylum?"

"Just a girl's school."

"Gosh!" he observed.