The room swayed and whirled as Alice was overcome by a sick feeling of dizziness, but she fought against it and concentrated with the whole of her mind on the Duke. What if he heard her but did not come? What if he did not love her? What if the grave had reclaimed him? And what if he had only been philandering? But after a few moments, the effort of concentration was too much for her. Her head hurt so much that she let out a cry and immediately afterward, realized her mistake.

The sound of voices in the next room abruptly ceased and then there was the sound of approaching footsteps.

The door opened and her three kidnappers walked in.

“Now,” said Mr. Bessant, smiling down into Alice’s wide and terrified eyes, “we shall have some fun with you. Tell us first where your so-called uncle is, and perhaps we will not be quite so hard on you.”

“I don’t know,” whispered Alice. “I wish to God that I did.”

“Then if you must do things the hard way…” began Bessant.

“Oh, no need for that, dear chap,” said a light, mocking voice. “Do them the easy way and look this way. I am here!”

Alice gulped with relief. Miss Fadden closed her eyes in gratitude that her prayers had been answered.

The three men looked wildly about the room, but apart from themselves and the two women, it was empty.

“The wind,” said Mr. Bessant. “We’re hearing things.”

“Look outside the door,” urged Harry Russell.

Bessant, who had shut the door behind them when they had entered the room, turned the doorknob and then looked over his shoulder at the other two. “It’s locked,” he said in a flat voice.

“Of course it’s locked, my angels,” said that mocking voice again. “Now we can be cozy.”

The fireplace had been piled high with dry kindling. Now it miraculously burst into flame. The three men backed closer together.

“That’s better,” went on the voice. “Now you will release these ladies immediately.”

Mr. Russell made a move but the more courageous Mr. Bessant held him back. “I’ll see you in hell first,” said Mr. Bessant.

“Then I shall take you there,” laughed that maddening voice and then to their horror a figure began to glimmer and glow in front of the fire.

White and shaking, the three men clutched onto each other.

The figure shimmered and changed in the flickering firelight and all at once seemed to solidify.

Magnificent in his gold brocade coat, knee breeches and powdered wig, the Eighth Duke of Haversham made his bow.

“Gervase!” sobbed Alice. “I love you.”

“My sweeting,” said the ghost severely. “This is neither the time nor the place to unbosom yourself. La! But I must play the gentleman. You force me to blush in front of these low types and tell you that I love thee with all my heart, my Alice.”