No sound coming to his ears from any of the rooms opening upon the corridor into which he had darted, he sprinted down its length until it terminated suddenly in a flight of stairs leading to the lower hall. He had descended about half way when a babel of voices sent him scuttling back again, and a moment later a voice commanded. "Wesley, hurry up to the south wing. Whoever is in the house certainly tried to make an escape from that quarter." "Yas'm. I catches 'em ef dey 're up dar," blustered Wesley Watts Mather, hurrying up the stairs and almost whistling to keep his courage up, for your true darkie finds All Saint's Night an awesome one, and not to be regarded lightly. Moreover, nearly all the electric lights were turned off, only those necessary to light the halls being left on, and this fact made the rooms seem the darker. Now Jack o' Lantern's costume, like Will-o'-the-Wisp's, had been liberally daubed with phosphorus and he still grasped the electric flash-light which had illuminated his shattered pumpkin. There was no time to stand upon ceremony for Wesley was almost at the top of the stairs. A door stood open at hand and he darted through it into the room, overturning a chair in the darkness. "Hi, you! I done got you!" shouted his dusky pursuer and burst into the room in hot chase. The next instant the exaltant shout changed to a howl of terror, for in the middle of that room stood a towering motionless figure from which radiated sheets of lightning, one blinding flash darting straight into the terrified darkie's eyes. "A flash ob lightenin' what cl'ar par'lyzed me an' helt ma feet fast to de floo'! Den, befo' I could get 'em loosen' dat hant jist lif' his hoof--yas ma'am, dat was a hoof, not no man's foot--an' I 'clar cross ma heart he done hist me froo dat do' an' cl'ar down dem stairs. He want no _man_. He de debbil hissef. No siree, yo' ain' gettin' me back up _dem_ stairs twell some white folks gwine _fust_. Not _me_. I knows when ter lie low, I does." (Goal kicking develops a fellow's muscles.) Nor could any amount of urging or scolding prevail, and Miss Stetson, the strong-minded, was obliged to go up to investigate. But though every room was searched there was no sign of mortal being. All the window sashes in Leslie Manor had been rehung in the most approved modern methods and could be raised and lowered without a sound. A porch roof and a slender column are quite as available as flying rings to a born acrobat. As she was returning from her fruitless search she encountered Miss Woodhull. "Well?" queried that lady. "It is _not_ well. If there really was any one in that wing, which I am compelled to doubt, he has made a most amazing escape."