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The eyes of Aunt Jo and Aunt Cal fluttered open simultaneously.

“There’s a fog all over the Point,” went on Percy dazedly, “and it’s got voices in it. I couldn’t see a foot before my face, but I could swear there was boats offshore, and I heard a dozen people talkin’ and callin’ to each other, just as if a lot of ghosts was havin’ a picnic supper on the beach.”

“What was that noise?” cried Aunt Jo, sitting upright.

“The door was locked,” explained Percy, “so I knocked on it with my gun.”

“No, I mean now!”

They listened. Through the open door came a low, groaning sound, issuing out of the dark mist which covered shore and sea alike.

“We’ll go right down and find out!” cried Doctor Gallup, who had recovered his shattered equilibrium; and, as the moaning sound drifted in again, like the last agony of some monster from the deep, he added, “I think you needed more than a psychoanalyst here tonight. Is there another gun in the house?”

Aunt Cal got up and took a small pearl-mounted revolver from the desk drawer.