ly.

"Spirit rapping," surmised Joyce lightly. "It doesn't matter, anyhow,
since it served its work of comforting Moya."

"It might have been some of the workmen," Lady Farquhar guessed.

"Must have been," agreed Bleyer. "And yet--we're not working that end of
the mine now. The men had no business there. Odd that it was seven raps.
That is a call for help. It means danger."

A bell of warning began to toll in Moya's heart. It rang as yet no clear
message to her brain, but the premonition of something sinister and
deadly sent a sinking sensation through her.

Verinder sat up with renewed interest. "I say, you know--spirit rapping.
Weren't you telling me, Bleyer, that there was a big accident there some
years ago? Perhaps the ghosts of some of the lost miners were sending a
message to their wives. Eh, what?"

"The accident was in the Golden Nugget, an adjoining mine. The property
was pretty well worked out and has never been opened since the
disaster."

The color had ebbed from Moya's lips. She was a sane young woman not
given to nerves. But she had worried a great deal over the disappearance
of Jack Kilmeny. This, coming on top of it, shook her composure. For she
was fighting with the dread that the spirit of the man she loved had
been trying to talk with her.

Joyce chattered gayly. "How weird! Moya, you must write an account of
your experience for the Society for Psychical Research. Put me in it,
please."

"Of course, it must have been some of the men, but I don't see----"

Moya interrupted the superintendent sharply. An intuition, like a flash
of light, had illumined her brain. "Where does that pipe run, Mr.
Bleyer?"

"Don't know. Maps of the workings at the office would show."

"Will you please find out?"

"Glad to look it up for you, Miss Dwight. I'm a little curious myself."

"I mean now--at once."

He glanced at her in quick surprise. Was she asking him to leave the
dinner table to do it? Lady Farquhar saw how colorless Moya was and came
to the rescue.

"My dear, you are a little unstrung, aren't you?" she said gently. "I
think we might find something more cheerful to talk about. We always
have the weather."

Moya rose, trembling. "No. I know now who called for help. It was Jack
Kilmeny."

Verinder was the first to break the strained silence. "But that's
nonsense, you know."

"It's the truth. He was calling for help."

"Where from? What would he be doing down in a mine?"

"I don't know