noise of some heavy article set down on the floor, and then a tentative
knock at his door. A little impatiently he called, "Come in."
The door opened slowly, and out of the half obscurity of the passage
a thickset figure lurched toward him into the full light of the room.
Randolph half rose, and then sank back into his chair, awed, spellbound,
and motionless. He saw the figure standing plainly before him; he saw
distinctly the familiar furniture of his room, the storm-twinkling
lights in the windows opposite, the flash of passing carriage lamps in
the street below. But the figure before him was none other than the dead
man of whom he had just been thinking.
The figure looked at him intently, and then burst into a fit of
unmistakable laughter. It was neither loud nor unpleasant, and yet
it provoked a disagreeable recollection. Nevertheless, it dissipated
Randolph's superstitious tremor, for he had never before heard of a
ghost who laughed heartily.
"You don't remember me," said the man. "Belay there, and I'll freshen
your memory." He stepped back to the door, opened it, put his arm
out into the hall, and brought in a portmanteau, closed the door, and
appeared before Randolph again with the portmanteau in his hand. It was
the one that had been stolen. "There!" he said.
"Captain Dornton," murmured Randolph.
The man laughed again and flung down the portmanteau. "You've got
my name pat enough, lad, I see; but I reckoned you'd have spotted ME
without that portmanteau."
"I see you've got it back," stammered Randolph in his embarrassment. "It
was--stolen from me."
Captain Dornton laughed again, dropped into a chair, rubbed his hands on
his knees, and turned his face toward Randolph. "Yes; I stole it--or had
it stolen--the same thing, for I'm responsible."
"But I would have given it up to YOU at once," said Randolph
reproachfully, clinging to the only idea he could understand in his
utter bewilderment. "I have religiously and faithfully kept it for you,
with all its contents, ever since--you disappeared."
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