"Well, not exactly. I fancy he will be relieved, though, to find that
Jeff was three thousand miles away when the murder was committed."

Only once during the drive home did Terry exhibit any interest in his
surroundings, and that was when we passed through the village of Lambert
Corners. He made me slow down to a walk and explain the purpose of
everyone of the dozen or so buildings along the square. At "Miller's
place" he suddenly decided that he needed some stamps and I waited
outside while he obtained them together with a drink in the private back
room.

"Nothing like getting the lay of the land," he remarked as he climbed
back into the carriage. "That Miller is a picturesque old party. He
thinks it's all tommy-rot that Radnor Gaylord had anything to do with
the crime--Rad's a customer of his, and it's a downright imposition to
lock the boy up where he can't spend money."

For the rest of the drive Terry kept silence and I did not venture to
interrupt it. I had come to have a superstitious feeling that his
silences were portentous. It was not until I stopped to open the gate
into our own home lane, that he suddenly burst out with the question:

"Where do the Mathers people live?"

"A couple of miles farther down the pike--they have no connection
whatever with the business, and don't know a thing about it."

"Ah--perhaps not. Would it be too late to drive over to-night?"

"Yes," said I, "it would."

"Oh, very well," said he, good-humoredly. "There'll be time enough in
the morning."

I let this pass without comment, but on one thing I was resolved; and
that was that Polly Mathers should never fall into Terry's clutches.

"There are a lot of questions I want to ask about your ghost, but I'll
wait till I get my bearings--and my dinner," he added with a laugh.
"There wasn't any dining car on that train, and I breakfasted early and
omitted lunch."

"Here we are," I said, as we came in sight of the house. "The cook is
expecting us."

"So that is the Gaylord house is it? A fine old place! When was it
built?"

"About 1830, I imagine."

"Let me see, Sheridan rode up the Shenandoah Valley and burned
everything in sight. How did this place happen to escape?"

"I don't know just how it did. You see it's a mile back from the main
road and well hidden by trees--I suppose they were in a hurry and it
escaped their attention."

"And that row of shanties down there?"

"Are the haunted negro cabins."

"Ah!" Terr