DETECTIVE NICK CARTER'S CASES - 7 Book Collection: The Great Spy System, The Mystery of St. Agnes' Hospital, The Crime of the French Café, With Links of Steel, Nick Carter's Ghost Story…. John R. Coryell

colonel shivered slightly in the draught.

      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

       Table of Contents

      “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.”

      “Quite enough, thank you,” responded Nick, sitting up. “And so, if you gentlemen who kindly put me to bed will gracefully withdraw I will get into my clothes, and prove to you that I have had enough, and that it is somebody else’s turn now.”

      He made them leave him with Patsy. Then he began to dress.

      “Now tell me your story,” he said.

      “When I jumped for that spook,” Patsy began, “I got the fearfulest thump on my crust that I’ve had since that marline-spike fell off the main yard on to me in the little affair of the Five Kernels of Corn.

      “It couldn’t have been a marker to what you got afterward, though. I went down, but not out.

      “You saw me draw my gun. Well, when you yelled ‘Don’t fire!’ I held off, but when I saw you go out I decided that all orders of that kind were canceled.

      “I blazed away; and, Nick, I put five bullets through that figure just as sure as you’re an inch high.”

      “What happened then?”

      “The light went out. I got to your side, and flashed your lantern in half a second.

      “The figure had vanished. The colonel’s lamp stood on the sideboard just where he had put it.

      “We had a fair light very soon. I examined you first, and, upon my word, I thought that you were done for.

      “We got you up to this room, and Horace Richmond rode off for the doctor.

      “From what he said about a nervous shock you can judge how much he knows.

      “His help wasn’t worth anything. I will back myself against him any day.

      “I made sure that you were only stunned, and would come to all right. Then I hurried down to that room and began my search.

      “Well, you know that room. It is simply built up of traps and panels. A man can go through the floor or the walls almost anywhere.

      “My job would have been a good deal easier if there’d been less of that secret machinery.

      “When there are five hundred ways in which a thing could have been done, it’s pretty hard to say which one is right.

      “There’s a trap pretty nearly in the spot where the figure stood. Probably she came up and went down through that.

      “But how about my shooting? There’s the point.

      “I took a direct line from the place where I was to the trap.

      “Following that line, I came to the screen in front of the fire-place.

      “In that screen, and about four and a half feet from the floor, were three bullets from my pistol. The other two are not there.

      “Then, as I figure it out, that ghost has carried them away.

      “My