Again, a clergyman writing to the Society for Psychical Research from a little English village named Ham, urgently requested the despatch of a skilled investigator to look into certain strange occurrences in the house of a Mr. Turner. This house, the clergyman asserted, was haunted by a “veritable ghost,” which amused itself by playing all sorts of mischievous and annoying pranks. Remaining invisible, it hurled boots, shoes, and other small objects through the air, upset chairs and tables, and on at least one occasion it had pitched the family cat into the fire. All this was done, according to both the clergyman and several other intelligent eye-witnesses, under circumstances that rendered it impossible that the “manifestations” could be the work of any human agency. “No one can explain it,” the clergyman declared. “It is quite a mystery, and is causing great excitement through the countryside.” The task of laying this “poltergeist,” or troublesome ghost, was assigned to Mr. Ernest Westlake, an able psychical researcher. Proceeding to Ham, he found that the Turner family consisted of Mr. Turner, his wife, one son, and a deformed little daughter, Polly, not quite twelve years old. So impressed was he with what he heard that his first report indicated a belief that the phenomena witnessed might be genuine evidences of some mysterious and unknown force. But, after a few hours of watchful scrutiny, he sent word that “the Ham ghost is a humbug _now_, whatever it may have been.” In detail Mr. Westlake afterward added: “After posting my first letter, I went to the Turners’ and sat on a bench in front of the fire. No one else was present besides the child. She sat on a low stool in the chimney on the right of the fire. On the other side of the hearth there was a brick oven in which, much to Polly’s interest, I placed a dish of flour, arguing that a power capable of discharging the contents of the oven (one of the first disturbances) might be able to impress the flour. After a time I went to the oven to see how the flour was getting on, stooping slightly to look in; but I kept my eye on the child’s hands, looking at them under my right arm. I saw her hand stealing down toward a stick that was projecting from the fire; I moved slightly, and the hand was withdrawn. Next time I was careful to make no movement, and saw her hand jerk the brand out on to the floor. She cried out. I expressed interest and astonishment; and her mother came in and cleared up the debris.