"Ghosts! Did you say ghosts, Harry?" I noted a strange inflection
in his voice. He stood still and peered into the fog bank. His
stop was sudden and suggestive. Just then a passing taxicab almost
caught us and we were compelled to dodge quickly. Hobart ducked
out of the way and I side-stepped in another direction. We came up
on the sidewalk. Again he peered into the shadow.

"Confound that cab," he was saying, "now we have gone and missed
him."

He took off his hat and then put it back on his head. His
favourite trick when bewildered. I looked up and down the street.

"Didn't you see him? Harry! Didn't you see him? It was Rhamda
Avec!"

I had seen no one; that is to notice; I did not know the Rhamda.
Neither did he.

"The Rhamda? You don't know him."

Hobart was puzzled.

"No," he said; "I do not; but it was he, just as sure as I am a
fat man."

I whistled. I recalled the tale that was now a legend. The man had
an affinity for the fog mist. To come out of "Faust" and to run
into the Rhamda! What was the connection? For a moment we both
stood still and waited.