Since Moris Klaw’s methods were, if not supernatural, at any rate supernormal, I have been asked if he ever, to my knowledge, inquired into a case which proved insusceptible of a natural explanation--which fell strictly within the province of the occult. To that I answer that I am aware of several; but I have refrained from including them because readers of these papers would be unlikely to appreciate the nature of Klaw’s investigations outside the sphere of ordinary natural laws. Those who are curious upon the point cannot do better than consult the remarkable work by Moris Klaw entitled, “Psychic Angles.” But there was one case with which I found myself concerned that I am disposed to include, for it fell between the provinces of the natural and supernatural in such a way that it might, with equal legitimacy, be included under either head. On the whole, I am disposed to bracket it with the case of the headless mummies. I will take leave to introduce you, then, to the company which met at Otter Brearley’s house one night in August. “This is most truly amazing,” Moris Klaw was saying; “and I am indebted to my good friend Searles”--he inclined his sparsely covered head in my direction--“for the opportunity to be one of you. It is a séance? Yes and no. But there is a mummy in it--and those mummies are so instructive!” He extracted the scent spray from his pocket and refreshed his yellow brow with verbena. “How to be regretted that my daughter is in Paris,” he continued, his rumbling voice echoing queerly about the room. “She loves them like a mother--those mummies! Ah, Mr. Brearley, this will cement your great reputation!” Otter Brearley shook his head. “I am not yet prepared to make it public property,” he declared, slowly. “No one, outside the present circle, knows of my discovery. I do not wish it to go farther--at present.” He glanced around the table, his prominent blue eyes passing from myself to Moris Klaw and from Klaw to the clean-cut dark face of Doctor Fairbank. The latter, scarce heeding his host’s last words, sat watching how the shaded light played, tenderly, amid the soft billows of Ailsa Brearley’s wonderful hair. “Shall you make it the subject of a paper?” he asked suddenly. “My dear Doctor Fairbank!” rumbled Moris Klaw, solemnly, “if you had been paying attention to our good friend you would have heard him say that he was not prepared, at present, to make public his wonderful discovery.” “Sorry!” said Fairbank, turning to Brearley. “But if it is not to be made public I don’t altogether follow the idea. What _do_ you intend, Brearley?” “I intend to experiment,” answered Brearley. “In what way?” I asked. “In every way possible!” Doctor Fairbank sat back in his chair and looked thoughtful. “Rather a comprehensive scheme?” Brearley toyed with the bundle of notes under his hand.