"No, wait, Mother," I hastily said. "I want to surprise them."
She accompanied me toward the stairway leading to the basement, firing all manner of interrogations and exclamations. Suddenly she halted and placed a detaining hand on my sleeve.
"You have heard about Marie and Terry?" she queried, giving me a close scrutiny.
"Yes, I have heard," I replied, simulating well a shrug of resignation. "I cannot blame them, I suppose."
My reply evidently satisfied her.
"Please let me go down alone," I requested.
"Sure," she agreed with a giggle. "And I'll bet they will be a some surprised bunch."
Very softly I descended to the basement door. I could hear voices beyond. I cautiously turned the knob and opened the door about two inches. The Black Hawks were all there except Zip Brinton and Marie.
I was disappointed in not seeing Marie in the room. She, I had determined, was to play an important part in the scene I had planned. Well, I would see her later; she would not escape me!
The gang was seated about a long table. Drinks were being served and toasts given, as per custom of the Black Hawks preceding the opening of a business discussion. Terry sat near the head of the table, but not in my accustomed place. My chair, the leader's chair, was not occupied.
Jimmy Delphrane rose.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he began, holding high a glass of wine, "Let's drink to the health of the comrade who unhesitatingly sacrificed his liberty that the Black Hawks might live on in freedom and plenty; to good old Hal Steadman, whose vacant chair there at the head of our board is a mute though eloquent symbol of his loyalty and devotion. to the Black Hawks."
As Jimmy talked on I watched Terry, my one-time pal and friend: He Had risen with the others, but his head hung and Jimmy's words were evidently cutting into his heart.
"Let's drink to Hal, mates," Jimmy went on. "May he return to us again—" I threw the door wide open and strode into the room, revolver in hand. As one man, the Black Hawks turned and stared at me in speechless amazement.
"YOU SNEAK!" I hissed, leveling the revolver at Terry.
I felt my finger tighten on the trigger; I saw the hammer rise; I saw Terry make a quick movement toward his hip pocket. My revolver snapped—merely a sharp, metallic click.
I saw something flash in Terry's hand. A roar. I felt no pain. I remained in the same posture, arm extended toward Terry. But—
At my feet lay Hal Steadman, a lifeless mass of clay!
I was a ghost! Where a moment before I stood, a living, breathing man, with murder in my heart, was now an invisible shadow; only the mind, desires, passions, weaknesses—the personality—of Haldine Steadman.
I was instantly adapted to my present state, undazed, unwondering. It seemed natural and fitting, this sudden leap into eternity. As in my material existence I could see, hear; but it seemed all wrong that those old pals of mine should stare aghast at the huddled heap on the floor and utterly ignore me.
Several wine glasses fell from shaking hands to shatter on the floor and table. The women gasped. Anne Stitt fainted. I was watching Terry. His face had gone white; he looked down upon the body with eyes that were wide and staring.
The revolver fell from his hand and clattered on the floor. Slowly he walked over to the thing that had once been and knelt down before it.
"Hal," he he whispered brokenly, "Speak to me, Hal! Please, old pal! Why, I didn't want to hurt you, Hal!"
As he spoke, a scene of long ago came before me. He and I, little kids, were throwing snowballs at each other. One of his white missiles struck me. Though I was not hurt, I threw myself face downward in the snow and pretended I was dead. He had done then as he did now, knelt down near me, and spoke the words he now spoke:
"Hal! Speak to me, Hal! Please, old pal! Why, I didn't want to hurt you, Hal!"
It was Terry, my old chum, and he was in distress.
"Hal, please forgive me," he pleaded.
"Why, of course I'll forgive you, Terry," I responded; but it was the voice of the dead—a ghost's voice that the living could not hear.
"Listen, Hal," Terry went on plaintively, as if he expected my huddled remains to listen, "I was weak, old man; I could not resist her. She asked me to marry her only after she had divorced you. I even begged her not to divorce you. And, oh, I loved her, Hal, and she tempted me. I am only human. Hal—Hal—" He covered his face with his hands and sobbed convulsively.
Others had gathered around, seeing me not, hearing me not, as I stood over Terry and endeavored vainly to comfort him.
"Come, Terry," said Doc Hanks, placing his hand on the young man's shoulder, "it was self defense pure and simple. Hal came here to, kill you; and you killed him. Come on, you fellows."—turning to the others—"let's get the body out of the house. And remember, everybody, when the police find poor old Hal's body, we know nothing of his death. It will be a case of suicide."
I MUST see Marie. She was, I presumed, in her apartment.
Instantly I was upstairs and in the living-room of what was once my home. Where I wished to be I was there on the instant. I was a mind, nothing more.
There was no one in the room. I waited, sitting on the divan. Presently Terry entered, hair awry, face haggard and drawn. He sat down by my side on the divan, little knowing that I was there, and moaned in the anguish of a broken heart and a seared conscience.
Again I endeavored to tell him that I heard, I knew, I forgave, but it was no use. Again the door opened and Marie entered, beautiful as ever; more alluring even to me, a ghost, than ever.
"Why, Terry!" she exclaimed, halting abruptly just inside the door, "What in the world is the matter—"
Suddenly her face turned to a sickly gray color and into her eyes came an indescribable terror.
"Merciful Heaven!" she gasped. "Terry! Terry! There, sitting at your side! Terry, he has his arm on your shoulder! It is Hal! No, it is not Hal; Hal is dead! Oh, I know, I know; you have killed Hal! Terry!—"
She slipped to the floor unconscious.
Terry bounded from the divan and stood now looking down upon me—me, the ghost that could not be seen by him.
I wished to leave them! to get away from Terry's anguish. Instantly I was in the street, an invisible thing to drift—and wish.
Other ghosts, many of them, I saw as I drifted aimlessly on through unrecorded time. I gave little heed to those of my kind; neither did they heed me. We were a silent, ghostly horde, who would not allow the natural scheme of things to carry us away to better things—away from reality.
Perhaps it was a week, perhaps it was a year later that I again attended a meeting of the Black Hawks. Others of them had died, but they were present. It seemed fitting that I should sit in my old chair at the head of the table.
Big Bill Silwert, who died in the fight with the detectives, sat in his usual
