st snatched the pad from Conlon and tore the blotter cover from
it; then he slipped it beneath Susan's right palm and finally thrust his
pencil between her curved fingers, its point resting on the linen block,
which he steadied by holding one corner between finger and thumb. For a
moment the hand remained quiet; then it began to write. I say "it"
advisedly; no least trace of consciousness or purposed control could be
detected in Susan's impassive face or heavily relaxed body. _Susan_ was
not writing; her waking will had no part in this strange automatism; so
much, at least, was plain to me and even to Conlon.

"Mother of God," came his throaty whisper again, "it's not _her_ that's
doin' it. Who's pushin' that hand?"

"It's not _sperits_, Conlon," said Doctor Askew ironically; "you can
take my say-so for that." With the words he withdrew the scribbled top
sheet from the pad, glanced at it, and handed it to me. The hand
journeyed on, covering a second sheet as I read. "That doesn't help us
much, does it?" was Doctor Askew's comment, when I had devoured the
first sheet.

"No," I replied; "not directly. But I'll keep this if you don't mind."

I folded the sheet and slipped it into my pocket. Doctor Askew removed
the second sheet.

"Same sort of stuff," he grunted, passing it over to me. "It needs
direction." And he began addressing--not _Susan_, to Conlon's
amazement--the _hand_! "What happened in Mrs. Hunt's room to-night?" he
demanded firmly of the hand. "Tell us exactly what happened in Mrs.
Hunt's room to-night! It's important. What happened in Mrs. Hunt's room
to-night?"

Always addressing the hand, his full attention fixed upon it as it
moved, he repeated this burden over and over. "We must know exactly what
happened in Mrs. Hunt's room to-night! Tell us what happened in Mrs.
Hunt's room to-night.... What happened in Mrs. Hunt's room to-night?"

Conlon and I both noted that Susan's breathing, hitherto barely to be
detected, gradually grew more labored while Doctor Askew insisted upon
and pressed home his monotonous refrain. He had so placed himself now
that he could follow the slowly pencilled words. More and more
deliberately the hand moved; then it paused....

"What happened in Mrs. Hunt's room to-night?" chanted Doctor Askew.

"This ain't right," muttered Conlon. "It's worse'n the third degree. I
don't like it."

He creaked uneasily away. The hand moved again, hesitatingly, briefly.

"Ah," chanted Doct