eared.

She was an impressive looking woman, tall, slender, and with the
traditional long green eyes and red hair. Her face was very white, but
she was calm and well-poised, and seemed to feel a great sense of
responsibility.

She had not been informed of Peter's identity, but she knew him to be
acquainted with the man whom she still considered dead, and she knew
that Mr. Bartram was to impersonate Peter Crane.

She asked the eight people present to sit in a circle and join hands,
allowing herself to make one of them.

Weston flatly refused to do this, saying he preferred to sit alone at
the back of the room. He did so, and took his place near the door of the
small library of Mr. Crane's, the session being held in the large living
room.

The medium requested that the lights be shut entirely off, saying that
sufficient illumination would come in from the street to prevent total
darkness.

This proved to be true, and the dim light was just enough for them to
distinguish one another's forms but not faces.

"Poppycock," whispered Shelby to Carlotta, as he held her hand.

Zizi, who sat on Shelby's other side, heard it and answered,
"Absolutely."

Then the usual things happened. The medium went into a trance state, and
the regular proceedings took place.

She gave messages to Mr. Crane, purporting to be from his dead son. She
gave messages to Julie and to Peter's mother, all vapid and meaningless
and mentally scoffed at by all present, except the two elderly
listeners.

At last the medium said, "I am weary,--weary,--I would sleep. The spirit
of Peter Crane himself would speak to you."

"Will you?" eagerly asked Benjamin Crane, "will you speak yourself,
Peter?"

"Yes, father," came a reply, and everybody started.

Surely that was Peter's own voice! Not loud, almost a whisper, but with
the unmistakable cadence and tone of Peter, himself.

"That's Peter!" cried Julie, excitedly, "oh, father, is it?"

"Hush, dear," her father said, himself greatly agitated. "One must be
very calm and quiet on these occasions. Peter Boots, will you talk with
us?"

"Gladly, Dad," came the voice again,--seeming to emanate from behind
Detective Western's chair,--as indeed it did.

"Then tell us of yourself, my boy."

Mrs. Crane said no word, but sat, her hand in that of her husband, full
of faith in the genuineness of it all, and ready to listen and believe.

"I am very happy here, father," Peter's voice declared,--and Zizi