However, conversation could not well flag at a board boasting the presence of such a genial colonial as Sir James and such a storehouse of anecdotal oddities as Moris Klaw. Mr. Leyland and myself, then, for the most part practised the difficult art of listening; for Isis Klaw, I learned, could talk almost as entertainingly as her father. “I am so glad,” said Moris Klaw, and his voice rumbled thunderously about the room, “that I have this opportunity to visit Grange.” “It certainly has great historic interest,” agreed Sir James. “I had never anticipated inheriting the grand old place, much less the title. My uncle’s early death, unmarried, very considerably altered my prospects; I became a landed proprietor who might otherwise have become a ‘Murrumbidgee whaler’!” He laughed, light-heartedly, glancing at Isis Klaw, and from her to his cousin. “Clem had everything in apple-pie order for me,” he added, “including the family goblin!” “Ah! that family goblin!” rumbled Moris Klaw. “It is him I am after, that goblin!” The history of Grange, in fact, was directly responsible for Moris Klaw’s presence that night. An odd little book, “Psychic Angles,” had recently attracted considerable attention among students of the occult, and had proved equally interesting to the general public. It dealt with the subject of ghosts from quite a new standpoint, and incidentally revealed its anonymous author as one conversant apparently with the history of every haunted house in Europe. Few knew that the curio-dealer of Wapping was the author, but as Grange was dealt with in “Psychic Angles,” amongst a number of other haunted homes of England, a letter from Sir James Leyland, forwarded by the publisher, had invited the author to investigate the latest developments of the Leyland family ghost. I had had the privilege to be associated with Moris Klaw in another case of apparent haunting--that which I have dealt with in an earlier paper: the haunting of The Grove. He had courteously invited me, then, to assist him (his own expression) in the inquiry at Grange. I welcomed the opportunity, for I was anxious to include in my annals at least one other case of the apparent occult. “We shall without delay,” continued the eccentric investigator, “endeavour to meet him face to face--this disturber of the peace. Sir James, it is with the phenomena you call ghosts the same as with valuable relics, with jewels, with mummies--ah, those mummies!--with beautiful women!” “To liken a beautiful woman to a relic,” said Sir James, “would be--well”--he glanced at Isis--“hardly complimentary!” “It would be true!” Moris Klaw assured him, impressively. “Nature, that mystic process of reproduction, wastes not its models. Sir James, all beauty is duplicated. Look at my daughter, Isis.” Sir James readily obeyed. “You see her, yes? And what do you see?” Isis lowered her eyes, but, frankly, I was unable to perceive any evidence of embarrassment in this singularly self-possessed girl.