ery. Here he deposited the body in a
snow-filled gully by a vault. Ten minutes later he was staring at his
mirrored reflection in his own room, convinced that, if he had not
already killed her, the woman would be dead from exposure before
morning. The cat had disappeared, and all traces of the night's
visitation had been removed.

* * * * *

Several hours before, Lem Crabbe and Lon Cronk had slunk into Tarrytown.
The snow still fell heavily when they made their preparations to enter
the home of Horace Shellington. About five in the afternoon they had
worked their way against this sharp north wind to Sleepy Hollow Cemetery
and had entered it. Until night should fall and sleep overtake the city,
they planned to remain there quietly. Not far from the fence they took
up their station in an unused toolhouse, smoking the next hours away in
silence.

When ten o'clock neared, Lem stole out; but he came back almost
immediately, cursing the wild night in superstitious fear.

"The wind's full of shriekin' devils, Lon," he said, "and 'tain't time
for us to go out. Be ye afeard to try it, old man?"

"Nope," replied the other; "but I wish we had that cuss of a Flukey to
open up them doors, or else Eli was here. This climbin' in windows be
hard on a big man like me and you with yer hook, Lem."

Lem grunted.

"I'll soon have a boy what'll take a hand in things, with us, Lon," he
said, presently. "I ain't sayin' nothin' jest yet; but when ye see him
ye'll be glad to have him."

"Whose boy be he?" demanded Lon.

"Ain't goin' to tell."

Lon ceased questioning, dismissing the subject with a suggestion that he
himself should reconnoiter the ground. He left Lem, groped his way among
the gravestones for several yards, and brought up abruptly at the fence.
From here he eyed the Brimbecomb mansion for some minutes; then he cast
his glance to the steps of the Shellington home beyond. After a few
seconds a young man ran down the stairs, and Lon slunk back to Lem in
the toolhouse. An instant later both men were startled by the cry of an
owl. Lem rose uneasily, while Lon stared into the darkness.

"That weren't a real owl, were it, Lon?" Lem muttered.

"Nope," growled Lon; "it sounded more like Scraggy."

He looked at the one-armed man with suspicion.

"Can't prove it by me," said Lem darkly.

"Do ye know where she ever goes to?" demanded Cronk.

Lem shook his head in negation.

Crabbe dared not