do) in the very hand he had so
adroitly practised in order to manipulate the ledger. Whereupon, at
_Bransby's_ dictation, _Stephen_ writes a full confession, leaving the
house in an acutely disgruntled frame of mind. The old man puts the
confession quite naturally (the firm is like that) between the leaves
of his _David Copperfield_, and dies of heart failure.

So _Stephen_ is again up on _Hugh_ at the turn. Indeed in the six
months that have elapsed between Acts I. and II. many things have
happened, and neglected to happen. _Stephen_ has become by common
report a great man, pillar of the house of Bransby, which now makes
aeroplanes like anything. He has been too busy getting power even to
look into his uncle's papers (though executor), or to have the West
African ledger taken back to the office, or, queerest of all, to
discover and destroy that damning confession. However, having got his
power, he now proceeds to consolidate it by trying to find the missing
document.

On the same day _Helen_ arrives unexpectedly, urged thereto by a vague
impression inspired by her dead father that _Hugh's_ innocence will be
established by something found in the fateful room; also _Hugh_, who
had enlisted and now comes back from France a sergeant, with the same
idea in his head and from the same source. As we had all seen the
paper's hiding-place I found it a little difficult to be impressed by
the elaborate efforts, unconscionably long drawn out, of the departed
spirit to disclose the matter to _Helen_ and _Hugh_; while the
masterly inactivity of _Stephen_, who was trying to find his document
by pure reason (mere looking for it would not occur to his Napoleonic
brain), confirmed the opinion I had earlier formed of that solemn ass.
However, his invisible foe does contrive to get his message through to
the lovers and smash up _Stephen_ and his bubble of power.

I can't help being surprised that Mr. H.B. IRVING should have been
satisfied with so impossible a character as _Stephen Pryde_, though I
need not add that he made most effective play with the terror of
an evil conscience haunted by the vengeful dead, throwing away his
consonants rather recklessly in the process and receiving the plaudits
of an enthusiastic audience.

I grant Mr. HACKETT freely his effects of eeriness and his sound
judgment in manipulating his ghost without materialising him; and
congratulate him particularly on the part of the vague American lady,
most capab