ell through a hole
and broke her back over the cross on St. Paul's."

It was Miss MacBee's turn to look puzzled, but she said to Miss Ford:
"My dear, you have brought us a real mystic."

Mr. Frere, though emitting an applauding murmur, leaned back and fixed
his face in the ambiguous expression of one who, while listening with
interest to the conversation of liars, is determined not to appear
deceived.

"How d'you mean--mystic?" asked the witch. "I don't think I can have
made myself clear. Excuse me," she added to Miss Ford, "but this room
smells awfully clever to any one coming in from outside. Do you mind if
I dance a little, to move the air about?"

"We shall be delighted," said Miss Ford indulgently. "Shall I play for
you?"

The witch did not answer; she rose, and as she rose she threw a little
white paper packet into the fire. She danced round the sofa and the
chairs. The floor shook a little, and all her watchers twisted their
necks gravely, like lizards watching an active fly.

The parlour-maid, by appearing in the doorway with an inaudible
announcement, diverted their attention, though she did not interrupt the
witch's exercises.

A very respectable-looking man came in. Darnby Frere, who was a student
of Henry James's works, and therefore constantly made elaborate guesses
on matters that did not concern him, and then forgot them
because--unlike Mr. James's guesses--they were always wrong, gave the
newcomer credit for being perhaps a shopwalker, or perhaps a
South-Eastern and Chatham ticket-collector, but surely a chapel-goer.

At any rate the stranger looked ill at ease, and especially disconcerted
by the sight of the dancing witch.

Miss Ford realised by now that her Wednesday had for some reason gone
mad. She had lost her hold on the reins of that usually dignified
equipage; there was nothing now for her to do but to grip tight and keep
her head.

She therefore concealed her ignorance of her newest guest's identity,
she stiffened her lips and poured out another cup of tea with a
nerveless hand. The stranger took the cup of tea with some relief, and
said: "Thenk you, meddem."

The witch stopped dancing, and stood in front of the newcomer's chair.

"I think yours must be a discouraging job," she said to him. "Getting
people punished for doing things you'd love to do yourself. Oh, awfully
discouraging. And do tell me, there's a little problem that's been on my
mind ever since the war started. I hea