you half-way. My boy, the question of the
persistence of the individual after death is the most vital of all
questions. Apply your keen mind to it and depend on old 'Loggy.'
Good-by!"

Kate was quivering with excitement. "Morton, that settles it for me.
That certainly was 'Loggy.' Oh, I wish mother could have spoken."

Morton's voice was eager and penetrating as he said: "Mrs. Lambert, I
would like to place my hand on your daughter's arm again, I must be
permitted to demonstrate conclusively that she has had nothing to do
with the handling of the horn."

"I will ask the 'guides.' Father, can Professor Serviss--"

Three feeble raps anticipated her question.

"They say 'yes'--but they are very doubtful--so please be very
gentle."

Serviss rose, his blood astir. At last he was about to remove his
doubt--or prove Viola's guilt. "Doctor," he said, and his voice was
incisive, "take the other side and place a hand on her wrist. That
will be permitted?" he asked.

Three raps, very slow and soft, assented.

Clarke interposed. "I am impressed, gentlemen, to say: Let each of you
put one hand on the psychic's head, the other on her arm."

"We will do so," replied Weissmann, cheerfully.

With a full realization of the value of this supreme test of Viola's
honor, Morton laid his right hand lightly on her wrist. At the first
contact she started as though his fingers had been hot iron, and he
was unpleasantly aware that her flesh had grown cold and inert. He
spoke of this to Weissmann, who replied: "Is that so! The hand which I
clasp is hot and dry, which is a singular symptom." Then to the
others: "I am now holding both her hands. One is very hot, the other
cold and damp and I feel no pulse."

"She is always so," Mrs. Lambert explained. "She seems to die for the
time being."

"That is very strange," muttered Weissmann. "May I listen for her
heart-beat?" Three raps assented, and a moment later he said, with
increased excitement: "I cannot detect her heart-beat."

Clarke reassured him. "Do not be alarmed. She is not dead. Proceed
with your experiment." There was a distinct note of contempt in his
voice.

As Morton laid his hand upon the soft coils of her hair Viola again
moved slightly, as a sleeper stirs beneath a caress, disturbed yet not
distressed--to settle instantly into deeper dream.

"We are ready," called Weissmann. "Whatever happens now Miss Lambert
is not the cause. Take Mr. Clarke's hands in yours--"