the wind.

Nora was shivering, clinging to Frank without reserve.

Jim Wilson said, "I'll be damned if it doesn't sound like a signal of
some kind."

"Maybe it's a language--a way of communication."

"But who the hell's communicating?"

"How would I know?"

"We best get to that hotel and bar a few doors. A man can't fight in the
dark--and nothing to fight with."

They hurried up the street, but it was all different now. Gone was the
illusion of being alone; gone the sense of solitude. Around them the
ghost town had come suddenly alive. Sinister forces more frightening
than the previous solitude had now to be reckoned with.

"Something's happened--something in the last few minutes," Nora
whispered.

Frank leaned close as they crossed the street to the dark silent pile
that was the Morrison hotel. "I think I know what you mean."

"It's as though there was no one around and then, suddenly, they came."

"I think they came and went away again."

"Did you actually _see_ anyone when you flashed your light?"

"No--I can't say positively that I did. But I got the impression there
were figures out there--at least dozens of them--and that they moved
back away from the light. Always just on the edge of it."

"I'm scared, Frank."

"So am I."

"Do you think it could all be imagination?"

"Those moans? Maybe the first one--I've heard of people imagining
sounds. But not the last ones. And besides, we all heard them."

Jim Wilson, utterly oblivious of any subtle emanations in the air,
boomed out in satisfaction: "We don't have to bust the joint open. The
revolving door works."

"Then maybe we ought to be careful," Frank said. "Maybe somebody else is
around here."

"Could be. We'll find out."

"Why are we afraid?" Nora whispered.

"It's natural, isn't it?" Frank melted the beam of his light with that
of Jim Wilson. The white finger pierced the darkness inside. Nothing
moved.

"I don't see why it should be. If there are people in there they must be
as scared as we are."

Nora was very close to him as they entered.

The lobby seemed deserted. The flashlight beams scanned the empty chairs
and couches. The glass of the deserted cages threw back reflections.

"The keys are in there," Frank said. He vaulted the desk and scanned the
numbers under the pigeon holes.

"We'd better stay down low," Jim Wilson said. "Damned if I'm going to
climb to the penthouse."

"How about the fourth floor?"

"That's plenty