it awaken. In the
interim he knew no more than a somnambulist what he was about. His
condition, though, was not somnambulistic, it was a case of psychical
epilepsy, a malady superinducible in certain natures by various
poisons, of which anger is one and alcohol another."

Orr paused. He looked at his cousin. Incredulity, something else
besides, was in her face. He affected not to notice it. "Now," he ran
on, "go with a story like that to the average jury. Of course, if need
be, I shall have experts, the very best experts, to substantiate it.
But the prosecution will have other experts, experts who will be just
as good, to deny the possibility of any such thing. In that event it
will be only a pleasure to mix them up a bit and to show by their own
testimony that they know no more than the law--I don't say allows
but--pays them for. Do you mind if I smoke?"

They were seated in the sombre parlor in Irving Place. Meditatively
Orr lit a cigarette. Meditatively Sylvia contemplated him.

"Would it not be better," she presently asked, "to show that Loftus
committed suicide?"

"Yes, in the event that the pistol is found. It is rather late,
though, for that."

Sylvia bent forward. "Melanchthon," she said, "I have heard you
say--have I not--that everything is possible?"

"Indeed you have and you will hear me again."

"Then why not ask Miranda?"

Orr looked about for a _cendrier_; finding one he put his cigarette in
it. "You mean the medium. Do you know, I would in a minute, were it
not that it will be a long time, perhaps years, before she or any
other spook could call Loftus up. When a man is snuffed out as
abruptly as he was, he is so stunned and confused that it is quite a
while before he can sufficiently collect his wits to reply to any
communications from these latitudes. It is tedious that it should be
so. The spirit world needs remodeling. But there you are. By the way,
where are you to be this summer?"

Sylvia made a gesture. She did not know. It was then June. Fashion had
fled. Fifth avenue was empty. The town was an oven. In that oven the
girl would have preferred to remain. But at the preference her mother
had rebelled. Against Newport Sylvia had rebelled also. She was in no
mood for its gaiety. Finally a little place on Long Island suggested
itself. Ultimately there they went.

It was in this place that Sylvia heard from Mrs. Price of Fanny's
illness. Fanny had disappointed her exceedingly. That she coul