She answered in a deep, solemn voice that carried conviction. “I believe in ghosts. I believe the dead come back to us, not to flit about as we are told by superstition, but to lodge--actually to dwell--inside these warm, living bodies of ours. They come and go at will. Sometimes we feel that they are there, but--oh, who knows? Their souls may conquer ours and go on inhabiting------” “Nonsense!” cried her husband. “Once dead, always dead, my dear.” “Do you really believe that, James?” she demanded seriously. “Have you never felt that something that was not you was living, breathing, speaking in this earthly shell of yours? Something that was not you, I say. Something that------” “Never!” he exclaimed quickly, but his eyes were full of the wonder that he felt. “Frederic,” she called imperatively, “come away from that window!” The young man joined the group. The sullen look in his face had given way to one of acute inquiry. The new note in her voice produced a strange effect upon him. It seemed like a call for help, a cry out of the darkness. “It is raining pitchforks,” he said, as if to explain his failure to respond at the first call. “Oh, dear,” sighed Lydia uncomfortably. “You can't go out in the storm, my dear,” cried Yvonne, tightening her grip on the girl's arm. “Draw up a chair, Freddy. Let's be cosy. “Really, Mrs Brood, I should go at once. Mother------” “Your mother is in bed and asleep,” protested Yvonne. “We should all be in bed,” said Frederic. “A bed is a sepulchre. We bury half our lives in it, Frederic. We spend too much time in bed. Why live in our dreams when we should be enjoying to-day and not our yesterdays? Do you want to hear about the concert, James? It was wonderful. The------” “If it was so wonderful, why did you leave before it was over?” demanded her husband, his lips straightening. She looked at him curiously. “How do you know that we left before it was over?” “You have been at home since ten.” They were all playing for time. They all realised that something sinister was attending their little conclave, unseen but vital. Each one knew that united they were safe, each against the other! Lydia was afraid because of Brood's revelations. Yvonne had sensed peril with the message delivered by Ranjab to Frederic. Frederic had come upstairs prepared for rebellion against the caustic remarks that were almost certain to come from his father. Brood was afraid of--himself! He was holding himself in check with the greatest difficulty. He knew that the smallest spark would create the explosion he dreaded and yet courted. Restraint lay heavily, yet shiftingly, upon all of them. “Oh,” said Yvonne easily, “there were still two numbers to be played, and I loathe both of them. Frederic was ready to come away, too.” “And Dr Hodder? Did he come away with you?” inquired Brood. “No. He insisted on staying to the bitter end. We left him there.” Brood laughed shortly. “I see.”