“Yes, boy! You seem clairvoyant yourself! He did. It was Sanford, of course; he had killed himself with the poison, and he tried to tell me so--but he couldn’t make any communication--they rarely can--so he left the tiny implement, that we might know and understand.” “H’m, yes;” and Stone sat thinking. “Now, Miss Ames, you must not be offended at what I’m about to say. I don’t disbelieve your story at all. You tell it too honestly for that. I fully believe you saw what you call a ‘vision.’ But you have thought over it and brooded over it, until you think you saw more than you did--or less! But, leaving that aside for the moment, I want you to realize that your theory of suicide, based on the ‘vision’ is not logical. Supposing your niece were guilty--as the detectives think--might not Mr. Embury’s spirit have pursued the same course?” Aunt Abby pondered. Then, her eyes flashing, she cried, “Do you mean he put the dropper in my room to throw suspicion on me, instead of on his wife?” “There is a chance for such a theory.” “Sanford wouldn’t do such a thing! He was truly fond of me!” “But to save his wife?” “I never thought of all that. Maybe he did--or, maybe he dropped the thing accidentally--” “Maybe.” Stone spoke preoccupiedly. Mason Elliott, too, sat in deep thought. At last he said: “Aunt Abby, if I were you, I wouldn’t tell that yarn to anybody else. Let’s all forget it, and call it merely a dream.” “What do you mean, Mason?” The old lady bridled, having no wish to hear her marvelous experience belittled. “It wasn’t a dream--not an ordinary dream--it was a true appearance of Sanford, after his death. You know such things do happen--look at that son of Sir Oliver Lodge. You don’t doubt that, do you?” “Never mind those things. But I earnestly beg of you, Aunt Abby, to forget the episode--or, at least, to promise me you’ll not repeat it to any one else.” “Why?” “I think it wiser for all concerned--for all concerned--that the tale shall not become public property.” “But why?” “Oh, my land!” burst out Fibsy; “don’t you see? The ghost was Mrs. Embury!” The boy had put into words what was in the thoughts of both Stone and Elliott. They realized that, while Aunt Abby’s experience might have been entirely a dream, it was so circumstantial as to indicate a real occurrence, and in that case, what solution so plausible as that Eunice, after committing the crime, wandered into her aunt’s room, and whether purposely or accidentally, dropped the implement of death? Stone, bent on investigation, plied Miss Ames with questions. Elliott, sorely afraid for Eunice, begged the old lady not to answer. “You are inventing!” he cried. “You are drawing on your imagination! Don’t believe all that, Mr. Stone. It isn’t fair to--to Mrs. Embury!”