"Well, tell us what happened," cried Kate. "I'm on the edge of my
chair with interest."

Britt looked at Morton. "That's the curious thing, isn't it? People
_are_ interested. The fact is, we all secretly hope the ghost-story
may turn out to be true."

Kate laughed. "You're perfectly right. We all pooh-pooh, but we'd be
bitterly disappointed if all spirit footsteps turned out to be rats
rolling nuts. But please hurry--wasn't _any_ of it true?"

"Now, I'm going to be candid--"

At this Morton leaned forward with excess of interest, and Kate
exulted. "Good! Now it's coming. Be as candid as you can."

Britt went on musingly. "One night as I sat between Viola and the
closed piano, the spook, or whatever it was, ran up and down the
keys--now on the treble, now on the bass--keeping time to my
whistling."

Morton interrupted. "Did you _know_ that the lid was closed?"

"Yes, I laid my hand on it while the keys were drummed."

"Where was Miss Lambert?"

"Apparently at my left, sleeping. It didn't really matter where she
was, for the lid was down. When the lights were turned on she was in
deep trance--apparently. That one fact of the closed piano being
played in that way remains inexplicable."

"Was that all?" cried Kate, in a most disappointed way.

"Oh no. There were marvels to raise your hair, but that was all that I
really valued."

Morton answered quickly. "It was enough, if properly conditioned. The
theory is--I've been reading up on it--that these spook brethren of
ours attack their doubters in different ways. Knowing you to be a man
of materialistic and rather methodical habit of mind, the powers
essayed a material test. Perhaps it was a mouse?"

"Or the cat?" suggested Kate.

"They must have been musical and of exceptional intelligence, then,"
put in Britt, "for they played up and down on the key-board at my
request, and kept time to 'Yankee Doodle.'"

Kate exulted. "What do you think of that, Morton? If one is true, then
all may be true."

Britt went on. "No. Whatever the power was, it was controlled by human
intelligence. It answered to my will."

"You were convinced of that." Morton's glance was keen, keener than he
knew. "If you admit that one of these manifestations is true you open
the door for the witches."

Britt was a little nettled. "All this took place precisely as I relate
it, in the dark, of course. But one sense, that of touch, controlled
the situation--hearing took the rest."

"It