From that point, however, the interest lapsed. Either there was no answer to questions, or we got the absurdity that we had encountered before, about the drawing-room furniture. But, unsatisfactory in many ways as the seance had been, the effect on Miss Jeremy was profound--she was longer in coming out, and greatly exhausted when it was all over. She refused to take the supper Mrs. Dane had prepared for her, and at eleven o’clock Sperry took her home in his car. I remember that Mrs. Dane inquired, after she had gone. “Does any one know the name of the Wellses’ butler? Is it Hawkins?” I said nothing, and as Sperry was the only one likely to know and he had gone, the inquiry went no further. Looking back, I realize that Herbert, while less cynical, was still skeptical, that his sister was non-committal, but for some reason watching me, and that Mrs. Dane was in a state of delightful anticipation. My wife, however, had taken a dislike to Miss Jeremy, and said that the whole thing bored her. “The men like it, of course,” she said, “Horace fairly simpers with pleasure while he sits and holds her hand. But a woman doesn’t impose on other women so easily. It’s silly.” “My dear,” Mrs. Dane said, reaching over and patting my wife’s hand, “people talked that way about Columbus and Galileo. And if it is nonsense it is such thrilling nonsense!” VI I find that the solution of the Arthur Wells mystery--for we did solve it--takes three divisions in my mind. Each one is a sitting, followed by an investigation made by Sperry and myself. But for some reason, after Miss Jeremy’s second sitting, I found that my reasoning mind was stronger than my credulity. And as Sperry had at that time determined to have nothing more to do with the business, I made a resolution to abandon my investigations. Nor have I any reason to believe that I would have altered my attitude toward the case, had it not been that I saw in the morning paper on the Thursday following the second seance, that Elinor Wells had closed her house, and gone to Florida. I tried to put the fact out of my mind that morning. After all, what good would it do? No discovery of mine could bring Arthur Wells back to his family, to his seat at the bridge table at the club, to his too expensive cars and his unpaid bills. Or to his wife who was not grieving for him. On the other hand, I confess to an overwhelming desire to examine again the ceiling of the dressing room and thus to check up one degree further the accuracy of our revelations. After some debate, therefore, I called up Sperry, but he flatly refused to go on any further. “Miss Jeremy has been ill since Monday,” he said. “Mrs. Dane’s rheumatism is worse, her companion is nervously upset, and your own wife called me up an hour ago and says you are sleeping with a light, and she thinks you ought to go away. The whole club is shot to pieces.”