"No," I replied; "not directly. But I'll keep this if you don't mind." I folded the sheet and slipped it into my pocket. Doctor Askew removed the second sheet. "Same sort of stuff," he grunted, passing it over to me. "It needs direction." And he began addressing--not _Susan_, to Conlon's amazement--the _hand_! "What happened in Mrs. Hunt's room to-night?" he demanded firmly of the hand. "Tell us exactly what happened in Mrs. Hunt's room to-night! It's important. What happened in Mrs. Hunt's room to-night?" Always addressing the hand, his full attention fixed upon it as it moved, he repeated this burden over and over. "We must know exactly what happened in Mrs. Hunt's room to-night! Tell us what happened in Mrs. Hunt's room to-night.... What happened in Mrs. Hunt's room to-night?" Conlon and I both noted that Susan's breathing, hitherto barely to be detected, gradually grew more labored while Doctor Askew insisted upon and pressed home his monotonous refrain. He had so placed himself now that he could follow the slowly pencilled words. More and more deliberately the hand moved; then it paused.... "What happened in Mrs. Hunt's room to-night?" chanted Doctor Askew. "This ain't right," muttered Conlon. "It's worse'n the third degree. I don't like it." He creaked uneasily away. The hand moved again, hesitatingly, briefly. "Ah," chanted Doctor Askew--always to the hand--"it was an accident, was it? How did it happen? Tell us exactly how it happened--exactly how it happened. _We must know_.... How did the accident happen in Mrs. Hunt's room to-night?" Again the hand moved, more steadily this time, and seemingly in response to his questions. Doctor Askew glanced up at me with an encouraging smile. "We'll get it now--all of it. Don't worry. The hand's responding to control."