As McCarthy shouted, and no sound came; as he moved from behind his desk,
and no jar accompanied his heavy footfall, he appeared to lose blood and
substance, to become unreal. As no sound issued from his contorted face,
So it seemed that no force would follow his blow, were he to deliver one.
He stumbled forward, dazed and groping as though he were in the dark,
instead of merely in silence; a striking example in the uncertainty of his
movements of how closely our senses depend on one another.
Jack spoke twice, then closed his lips in a grim straight line. He held
his elbows close to his sides, and looked ready for anything.
A look of mild triumph illumined Percy Darrow's usually languid
countenance. He stepped quickly to the wall, and turned the button of
the incandescent globe. The light instantly glowed. At this he nodded
twice more. From his pocket he drew a note-book and pencil, wrote in
it a few words, and handed it to the dazed and uncertain boss.
"I was right," Darrow had scrawled. "This proves it. It's by no means the
end. Better be good."
McCarthy's bulldog courage had recovered from its first daze. He began to
see that this visitation was not entirely personal, but extended also to
his two companions. This relieved his mind, for he had suspected some
strange new apoplexy.
"Did you expect this?" he wrote.
Darrow nodded.
Together the three ghosts left the phantom office, and glided down the
phantom halls.
Pages:
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49