et him out."

"Will you stay right here?" Val asked.

"Of course. Though I don't see why you and Rupert have taken to acting
as if Fu Manchu were loose in our yard. Now hurry up before he claws the
screen to pieces. Satan, I mean, not the worthy Chinese gentleman."

But Satan did not meet Val at the door. Apparently, having received no
immediate answer to his plea, he had withdrawn into the bulk of the
house. Speaking unkind things about him under his breath, Val started
across the dark kitchen.

Suddenly he stopped. He felt the solid edge of the table against his
thigh. When he put out his hand he touched the reassuring everyday form
of Lucy's stone cooky jar. He was in their own pleasant everyday
kitchen.

But--

He was not alone in that house!

There had been the faintest of sounds from the forepart of the main
section, a sound such as Satan might have caused. But Val knew--knew
positively--that Satan was guiltless. Someone or something was in the
Long Hall.

He crept by the table, hoping that he could find his way without running
into anything. His hand closed upon the knob of the door opening upon
the back stairs used by Letty-Lou. If he could get up them and across
the upper hall, he could come down the front stairs and catch the
intruder.

It took Val perhaps two minutes to reach the head of the front stairs,
and each minute seemed a half-hour in length. From below he could hear a
regular _pad, pad_, as if from stocking feet on the stone floor. He drew
a deep breath and started down.

When he reached the landing he looked over the rail. Upright before the
fireplace was a dim white blur. As he watched, it moved forward. There
was something uncanny about that almost noiseless movement.

The blur became a thin figure clad in baggy white breeches and loose
shirt. Below the knees the legs seemed to fade into the darkness of the
hall and there was something strange about the outlines of the head.

Again the thing resumed its padding and Val saw now that it was pacing
the hall in a regular pattern. Which suggested that it was human and was
there with a very definite purpose.

He edged farther down the stairs.

"And just what are you doing?"

If his voice quavered upon the last word, it was hardly his fault. For
when the thing turned, Val saw--

It had no face!

With a startled cry he lunged forward, clutching at the banister to
steady his blundering descent. The thing backed away; already it was