He paused on the threshold for a moment, and looked into the room. It was lighted—except for the feeble ray from the lamp—only by the faint moonlight which found its way in through the hall and narrow windows, partly overgrown with clinging vines.
The whole party entered. The colonel set his lamp upon the sideboard.
He turned to speak to the supposed Gilder, probably with the intention of sending him at once to his room.
But at that moment the lamp suddenly went out.
With a low cry the colonel sprang toward it. The lamp was not there.
It had been removed. The room was almost totally dark.
The colonel lit a match. There was no sign of the lamp. It had utterly vanished.
As the burned match fell to the floor a beam of light suddenly shot across the gloom.
And there, before the old-fashioned fire-place, stood a figure corresponding in every particular to Lavina Richmond as she appeared in a portrait painted just previous to her death, and hanging at that moment in the colonel's room.
There was no sound in the room except the labored breathing of the excited old man, whose faith was now fully justified to his mind.
He was gazing straight at this apparition.
It was veiled, and the heavy folds of a black silk dress in the style of many years ago hung loosely about the form.
Immediately a white hand appeared. The veil was lifted, disclosing the thin and pale face of a woman of advanced age and feeble health. The likeness of Lavina Richmond was perfect.
The colonel tried to speak, but his voice stuck in his throat.
Slowly the veil descended. Nick made a sign to Patsy, who had pressed up a little in advance.
He had kept an eye over his shoulder, however, to be sure of getting any orders from his chief.
There was light enough to see the signal. Patsy sprang forward toward the specter.
The distance separating them was not more than twenty feet. The athletic youth would have covered it in a twinkling.
But suddenly he fell to the floor with a smothered groan.
“I'm hit hard,” he cried; and, raising himself upon one knee, with his left hand pressed to his temple, he drew a revolver with the other.
“Don't shoot!” exclaimed Nick. “It's Millie Stevens!”
The detective made a bound toward the figure.
The light which had played full upon it wavered, as if about to vanish.
Yet there was time. Nick felt sure of his prize, as he sprang out from his place beside the colonel.
And the next thing Nick knew it was six o'clock of the following morning, and he was lying in a bed, looking up into Patsy's face.
CHAPTER VIII. PATSY'S STORY AND THE TEST PROPOSED.
“Are you much hurt?” asked Patsy, anxiously.
Nick took in the whole scene before he replied.
Beside the bed were Colonel Richmond, Horace and a man whom Nick rightly judged to be a doctor.
“No,” said Nick, “I'm not much hurt, except in my feelings. What happened, Patsy?”
“The ghost got away,” responded the young man, in a tone of disgust.
“I wouldn't talk very much,” said Colonel Richmond. “The doctor says that you have been subjected to a severe nervous shock, and—”
“My grandmother's ducks!” exclaimed Nick. “Nervous shock! Well, this makes me worse. Why, man, I've been sand-bagged.”
The colonel shook his head.
“The power of the unseen forces,” he began; but Nick interrupted him.
“Look here, Colonel Richmond!” he said, “if you had the sensation behind your ear that I've got, you wouldn't talk about mysterious powers of darkness. I know what's the matter with me, and what I want is a chance to get square.”
“There is no evidence of any injury,” said the physician.
“There never is in a case of this kind,” rejoined Nick. “A sand-bag doesn't leave any mark. That's why it is so popular.”
“It is impossible to convince a stubborn man,” said the colonel. “I should think that this experience would have been enough.”
