His figure suddenly shimmered for a moment against the dark oak of the paneling and then materialized completely.

“Do your powers never fail you?” asked Alice, trying to joke. “One of these days you might find yourself trapped in the wall.”

“It is one of my many tricks,” said the Duke proudly. “I discovered I could do it by a simple matter of concentration. Are you ready?”

Alice nodded dumbly and moved to the bed to put on the warm pelisse and tied a smart swansdown-edged bonnet over her curls.

He was dressed in a long, many-caped driving coat and a curly brimmed beaver hat was tilted at a rakish angle on his fair hair.

He waited until she was ready and held out his hand. She looked sadly around the little room for the last time. “At least I have had this,” she thought sadly. And then she felt the strength of his long fingers curl about her own.

They melted through the outer wall and out over the grounds of the Hall. Alice gasped and looked down and clutched the Duke’s hand tightly.

“You have taken so much in your stride to this date, my sweeting,” mocked the ghost. “Do not, I beg you, fail me now. Don’t look down.”

Alice tried to do as she was bid and soon became a little accustomed to the great rate at which they seemed to be flying over the silent fields. Down below, pinpricks of candlelight from village cottages sparkled and winked in the darkness and, up above them, great stars blazed down in the frosty night.

Villages gave way to larger towns and soon Alice saw the metallic curve of a river sliding below. The Thames, surely.

Then up into the night sky seemed to loom a great black cloud and Alice clutched the ghost’s hand tighter and they sped ever nearer toward it.

All at once they were in the midst of a choking, blinding cloud and Alice gasped for breath.

“Stap me vitals!” exclaimed the Duke. “A London fog. We shall descend, my dear, and try to look for landmarks.”

They sailed down, the Duke trying to keep toward the river, glimpses of which occasionally flashed up through the suffocating fog.

At last, “The Monument,” he said. “Not long now. Ah, there is St. Paul’s. We must float nearly at street level and hope that should anyone see us they will think themselves drunk!”

“Where are we bound?” asked Alice.