West searched Artie's room, but found nothing out of the ordinary, save for the fact that Gordon wasn't in it. Grant sat in the chair in the corner, waiting for Jim to finish. Finally, West turned to the President.

Not a clue of what could have happened to him. Absolutely nothing.

Grant stood, Questions but no answers.

The voice from the door turned their heads.

What was the question, Mr. President?

The two men stared unbelievingly at Artemus Gordon.

Jim quickly recovered, anger propelling his voice, Where the hell have you been?

Artie looked at him, confusion in his eyes, I was out for a walk...

At three in the morning?

Artie shrugged, moving into the room, I couldn't sleep. Needed to clear my mind, that's all. Say, what are you two doing in here and where's the bull that broke my door down?

Grant smiled, You missed all the excitement, Gordon, and the bull you're looking for is right there.

Artie stared at his partner, James...is there something you want to tell me?

You didn't answer when I knocked... Artie's eyebrows raised, and Jim muttered, I was worried. Come on, Artie, let's get the President settled in, and we'll go take a look at the dead body in the kitchen.

Dead body?

Grant leaned into Gordon's ear as they walked toward the missing door, Told you you missed all the excitement.

Jim and Artie deposited Grant in his room, leaving two infantrymen on watch outside the door. They began walking down the stairs, when something caught Jim's eye. He bent down, to remove a small piece of cloth that was caught on a jagged edge of the bannister. He held it so that Artie could see it.

Looks like part of an Army uniform, James.

Exactly. And I bet I know where it came from.

Artemus followed his partner downstairs, through the lobby and into the kitchen, all the while listening to West's quick recap of the events that had transpired. An infantryman came to attention as West and Gordon walked by. Gelbhardt stood to face West as he approached the body lying on the floor by the butcher block table.

Report, Captain.

Private Simons, Mr. West. I can't find a mark on him.

Thank you, Captain.

Good night Mr. West, Mr. Gordon.

Gelbhardt exited, while West and Gordon bent down to examine the body for themselves. Just as Gelbhardt stated, there were no obvious wounds on the man. Jim searched the fabric of the Simons' uniform, and as he had expected, he found a tear in the back of the man's jacket. He held the swatch of fabric to it, and the the jagged edges matched perfectly. There was no question that the torn piece came off of the uniform. They stood, and Jim noticed the pallor of his partner's skin.

Artie...everything okay?

Yeah, sure.

West didn't buy it, but now didn't seem like the best time to try and needle Artemus for more.

Jim exhaled a long sigh of air, So we know Simons was unconscious upstairs, and dragged down the staircase, but I guess we'll have to wait for an autopsy to get any clue as to what actually killed him.

It's the Mohonk ghosts...they're back.

The two agents turned to see Mr. O'Connell staring at the dead body, his eyes wide with fear.

That is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard, O'Connell.

The nervous clerk came closer, leaning in, It's happened before, Mr. West.

Gordon frowned, What are you talking about?

About a year and a half ago, a man was found dead in the kitchen, in that very spot.

What was the cause?

It was never determined, Mr. West.

Gordon asked, Who was he, this man?

Just a traveling salesman. No wife, no family. No kin at all, actually. He was buried in the old cemetery yard about half a mile up the mountain on the other side of the lake.

Jim scowled, Was there a local investigation?

The sheriff asked questions and interviewed staff, but never came to any conclusions.

Well, thank you, Mr. O'Connell, if we need anything furth--

--That was just the most recent one, Mr. West. Every year or so, the Mohonk ghost exacts revenge.

Revenge for what?

For being murdered.

Artie took in a large sigh of air, All right, I'll bite. There's got to be some story that goes with this legend....

O'Connell's eyes lit up at the opportunity to spin his tale.

This place was built by Alfred and Albert Smiley in 1859. About five years later, they had a falling out, some kind of business disagreement. One night, as they were closing up the kitchen, they got into an argument, which turned into a fist fight, attracting a few remaining staff members, who tried to break it up. Albert, who always carried a weapon, shot Alfred dead, right on that very spot where this fella is...

What happened to Albert afterward?

He was hung, right outside the Inn, on that big elm tree.

Jim stared at O'Connell for a moment, assessing the man, then he pat him on the back.

Very well, Mr. O'Connell, thank you. You'd better get some rest in what little time you have left tonight.

O'Connell seemed hesitant to leave, but having no other reason to stay, finally smiled at the two agents.

Good night, Mr. West, Mr. Gordon.

Good night, Artie replied.

They watched him retreat through the door, an uncomfortable air developing around them. Artie turned toward Jim.

Well, that was one helluva ghost story.

Jim's eyes narrowed, still staring in O'Connell's wake.

I don't trust that man, Artemus. There's just something about him that doesn't seem quite right.

Artie put his arm around his partner and moved him toward the door, Come on, Jim, we don't have too many hours left to sleep either.

They exited the room as some infantrymen came in to clear away the body. The two privates looked at each other, shivering from the sudden chill in the air.

Hurry up, Ray, this room gives me the willies....

And it's dang cold, too.

A creak at the other end of the kitchen, made them start. The two men exchanged a look, and without a word, they wrapped Simon in a sheet and quickly carried him out, leaving the unquiet atmosphere of the kitchen. They didn't hear the soft laughter accompanying their exit.