his cigar.
"No, this pair were competent liars," he replied. "A good workmanlike
liar never makes up a story out of the whole cloth; he always takes a
fabric of truth and embroiders it to suit the situation." He smiled
grimly; that was an accurate description of his own tactical procedure
at the moment. "I hadn't intended this to come out, Doctor, but it
happens that I am a convinced believer in spiritualism. I suppose you'll
think that's a delusional belief, too?"

"Well...." Doctor Vehrner pursed his lips. "I reject the idea of
survival after death, myself, but I think that people who believe in
such a theory are merely misevaluating evidence. It is definitely not,
in itself, a symptom of a psychotic condition."

"Thank you, Doctor." The Colonel gestured with his cigar. "Now, I'll
admit their statements about my appearing to be in conversation with
some invisible or imaginary being. That's all quite true. I'm convinced
that I'm in direct-voice communication with the spirit of a young girl
who was killed by Indians in this section about a hundred and
seventy-five years ago. At first, she communicated by automatic writing;
later we established direct-voice communication. Well, naturally, a man
in my position would dislike the label of spirit-medium; there
are too many invidious associations connected with the term. But there
it is. I trust both of you gentlemen will remember the ethics of your
respective professions and keep this confidential."

"Oh, brother!" Dearest was fairly hugging him with delight. "When bigger
and better lies are told, we tell them, don't we, Popsy?"

"Yes, and try and prove otherwise," Colonel Hampton replied, around his
cigar. Then he blew a jet of smoke and spoke to the men in front of him.

"I intend paying for my nephew's hospitalization, and for his wife's
funeral," he said. "And then, I'm going to pack up all his personal
belongings, and all of hers; when he's discharged from the hospital,
I'll ship them wherever he wants them. But he won't be allowed to come
back here. After this business, I'm through with him."

T. Barnwell Powell nodded primly. "I don't blame you, in the least,
Colonel," he said. "I think you have been abominably treated, and your
attitude is most generous." He was about to say something else, when the
doorbell tinkled and Sergeant Williamson went out into the hall. "Oh,
dear; I suppose that's the police, now," the lawyer said. He grimaced
like a small boy in a de