The old soldier's tobacco-yellowed mustache twitched with amusement. "No, gentlemen, it is the ambulance," he corrected. "My spirit-control says...." He relayed Dearest's descriptions to them. T. Barnwell Powell blinked. A speculative look came into the psychiatrist's eyes; he was probably wishing the commitment paper hadn't been destroyed. Then the doctor came bustling in, brown-mustached, blue-tied, spectacled, carrying a tan bag, and behind him followed the two ambulance men, one with a thatch of flaming red hair and the other with a stain of mercurochrome on his jacket-sleeve. For an instant, the lawyer and the psychiatrist gaped at them. Then T. Barnwell Powell put one hand to his mouth and made a small gibbering sound, and Doctor Vehrner gave a faint squawk, and then both men grabbed, simultaneously, for the whiskey bottle. The laughter of Dearest tinkled inaudibly through the rumbling mirth of Colonel Hampton. The End TYPOGRAPHICAL ERRORS CORRECTED In the text: "... a man in my position would dislike the label of spirit-medium;" the word "meduim" was corrected to "medium."