Men of my profession who have to deal with facts rather than fancy are not believers in the supernatural. I was sure that the extending arm and the beckoning finger were there, but belonged to no ghost. It might have been a curtain blowing out the window or a fake of some kind. But I knew that unless there was some kind of a showing in a ghostly way that night, I should never hear the last of my stone fence indulgence, so I resolved to make a preliminary visit alone by daylight and rig up something white to substantiate my spectral narrative. I didn't find an opportunity to escape unseen until late in the afternoon, when I went, ostensibly, for a solitary row on the lake. I landed and came by a circuitous route to the haunted house. The calm security of sunshine, of course, prevented any shivers of anticipation such as I had experienced the night before. On passing one of the windows on my way to the front entrance, I glanced in, stopped in sheer fright, stooped and backed to the next window, which was screened by a labyrinth of vines through which I peered. I am sure I lost my Bloom of Youth complexion for a few moments. I babbled aimlessly to myself and then managed to pull together and beat it to the lake with as much speed as my farmer friend had shown in his retreat. I made the boat and the hotel in double quick time. [Illustration: I babbled aimlessly to myself and then managed to pull together and beat it to the lake] I felt no misgivings now as to the promise of a sensation that night, and that sustaining thought was all that propped my flagging spirits throughout the day, but I resolved to keep my little party at safe distance from the house. "Say we keep our nocturnal noctambulation under our hats," proposed Rob. When this proposition was translated to Silvia, she entirely approved, so, committing Diogenes to the Polydores' Providence, we left the hotel at half past eleven for a row on the lake by moonlight. When we descended the slope leading to the House of Mystery, I cautioned silence and a "safety-first" distance. "Ghosts are easily vanished," I informed them. "They don't seek limelight, and I want you to be sure to see this one." As we came to the untrodden undergrowth we heard a weird, wailing sound that would have curdled my blood had I not glanced in the window that afternoon and so, in a measure, been prepared for this--or anything. "Look!" whispered Beth. "The arm!" Silvia looked at the roof window and with a stifled shriek of terror turned and fled up the hill, Rob chivalrously pursuing her. Beth was pale, but game. "What can it be, Lucien?" she whispered. "Do we dare go in to see?" "I wouldn't, Beth," I vetoed quickly. "Maybe some lunatic or half-witted person has taken up abode here." "Lucien!" called Rob peremptorily. I turned quickly. He was at the top of the hill, half supporting Silvia. I ran toward them, followed by Beth.