Fibsy nearly shrieked, for at each enumeration of her marvelous experiences, Miss Ames grasped his arm tighter and emphasized her statements by pounding on his shoulder. She seemed unaware of his personal presence--she talked more as if recounting the matter to herself, but she used him as a general audience and the boy had to make a desperate effort to preserve his poise. And then it struck him that the old lady was crazy, or else she really had an important story to tell. In either case, it was his duty to let Fleming Stone hear it, at first hand, if possible. But he felt sure that to call in the rest of the household, or to take the narrator out to them would--as he expressed it to himself “upset her applecart and spill the beans!” Chapter XIV The Five Senses However he decided quickly, it must be done, so he said, diplomatically, “This is awful int’restin’, Miss Ames, and I’m just dead sure and certain Mr. Stone’d think so, too. Let’s go out and get it off where he c’n hear it. What say?” The boy had risen and was edging toward the door. Rather than lose her audience, Aunt Abby followed, and in a moment the pair appeared in the living-room, where Fleming Stone was still talking to Eunice and Mr. Elliott. “Miss Ames, now, she’s got somethin’ worth tellin’,” Fibsy announced. “This yarn of hers is pure gold and a yard wide, Mr. Stone, and you oughter hear it, sir.” “Gladly,” and Stone gave Aunt Abby a welcoming smile. Nothing loath to achieve the center of the stage, the old lady seated herself in her favorite arm-chair, and began: “It was almost morning,” she said, “a faint dawn began to make objects about the room visible, when I opened my eyes and saw a dim, gliding figure--” Eunice gave an angry exclamation, and rising quickly from her chair, walked into her own room, and closed the door with a slam that left no doubt as to her state of mind. “Let her alone,” advised Elliott; “she’s better off in there. What is this story, Aunt Abby? I’ve never heard it in full.” “No; Eunice never would let me tell it. But it will solve all mystery of Sanford’s death.” “Then it is indeed important,” and Stone looked at the speaker intently. “Yes, Mr. Stone, it will prove beyond all doubt that Mr. Embury was a suicide.” “Go on, then,” said Elliott, briefly. “I will. In the half light, I saw this figure I just mentioned. It wasn’t discernible clearly--it was merely a moving shadow--a vague shape. It came toward me--” “From which direction?” asked Stone, with decided interest. “From Eunice’s room--that is, it had, of course, come from Mr. Embury’s room, through Eunice’s room, and so on into my room. For it was Sanford Embury’s spirit--get that firmly in your minds!” The old lady spoke with asperity, for she was afraid of contradiction, and resented their quite apparent scepticism. “Go on, please,” urged Stone. “Well, the spirit came nearer my bed, and paused and looked down on me where I lay.” “Did you see his face?” asked Elliott.