e came from the cone, but apparently very much
muffled and blurred. "You are not articulating well," I rather
sarcastically observed.

Instantly the voice came out clearly, more sharply than ever before.
"_I was fooling you!_" jeered "Wilbur."

We all applauded. "There, that's better," I said. "Your voice improved
wonderfully."

"Wilbur" chuckled with glee. "_I've taken a lozenge_," he whimsically
retorted, expressing a very human delight in our mystification.

Fowler then said: "Now let's consider this a moment, Garland. Suppose
Mrs. Smiley has been able to loosen the gag. How does she handle the
cone? We will suppose she is a marvellous ventriloquist. How does she
write on the pads on the table, and how does she whisk them away? You
see, it isn't the matter of one thing, but of all that has happened."

"Yes, I admit that everything points to an exercise of supernormal
force. It really looks, so far as anything in the dark can look, like
spirits, but I prefer to think Mrs. Smiley has the power to project her
will in some way."

"I don't see how we are going to escape the spirit hypothesis," replied
Fowler.

"'Mitchell,'" I said, addressing the phantom, "I want to examine that
gag, and I want to hold both hands of the psychic. Will you permit
that?"

There was no reply to this, and Fowler offered an explanation: "We had
that test at a previous sitting."

I explained to the invisible ones: "'Wilbur,' it is absolutely
essential that you should prove to me that your voice is not dependent
upon the vocal chords of the psychic. You see the importance of this, do
you not, Mrs. Smiley?"

"Indeed, I do," she earnestly answered, her voice sounding very faint
and muffled through the kerchief. "I am anxious for the test."

"Very well, then. Now I want you to sing a song, and while you are
singing I am going to insist on 'Wilbur's' speaking. Will you do that,
'Wilbur'?" The cone was drummed upon as if in vigorous promise of
success.

Mrs. Smiley sang, or rather hummed; but there was no response on the
part of the ghostly voices, and a moment later she called, faintly: "The
kerchief is slipping down, Mr. Garland."

I rose and went to her side. As I untied the kerchief, she said,
plaintively: "I am sorry we didn't get the voices. I am sure we can if
we try again. Please try again." And a vigorous drumming on the cone
seemed to second her plea.

However, it was getting very late, and I said: "I think we will postpon