Sam hesitated. “Maybe it’s more hunch than reason.” “But what gave you the hunch?” “Oh, one thing and then another.” “Huh! That sounds like some of my answers in history!” quoth Poke. “It’s specially like those I make when I’m meeting a total stranger of a question, and trying to be polite, if not communicative.” The Shark wriggled in his chair; he was growing impatient to resume play. “Your move, Trojan!” he snapped. “Wait a minute!” said his opponent. “Sam’s going to elucidate.” “Well, things have happened and kept on happening,” Sam began; “things that can’t be explained except----But I say, Shark! What on earth’s the matter?” Young Reynolds, who had turned from the table in disgust at the delay, of a sudden had uttered an exclamation and started to his feet. “Speak out! What is it?” Sam demanded. The Shark pulled off his spectacles; held the lenses to the light; inspected them closely; shook his head. “No; they’re not clouded,” said he, half to himself. “Very curious, I do declare!” “What’s curious? And what are you driving at?” “Of course, it might have been a tricky reflection,” mused the Shark. “Or, maybe, it was just an optical illusion.” Sam caught him by both shoulders. “Wake up! What are you talking about?” “Then, again, the doctor tells me eye-strain works queerly sometimes.” Sam shook the slender youth vigorously. “Get back to earth! Let’s have some sense out of all this. Thought you saw something, didn’t you? Well, what was it?” “Man looking in the window!” said the other calmly. “Oh!” cried Sam, and whipped about. Certainly no face now was pressed against the pane. He ran to the door, opened it, and sprang into darkness, closely followed by all the other members of the club except the Shark, who was busying himself in polishing his glasses and replacing them on his nose. This task was completed to his satisfaction when the boys came straggling back. Their search had been utterly without result. They crowded about the Shark, and rained questions upon him. Just what had he seen? How long had he seen it? What had he to say for himself, anyway? The Shark waved them back. “Here! Don’t walk all over a fellow!” he cried. “What I saw--or thought I saw--was a head. I had just a glimpse--there one instant, gone the next--presto, change business! Looked like a human head.” “You said it was a man’s,” Sam reminded him. “Well, it might have been a boy’s--I couldn’t make it out clearly, you understand. It was vague, shadowy.” “Then, of course, you didn’t recognize the face?” “No,” said the Shark. “And you’ll understand, too, that I don’t insist that I really saw anything. You know, these glasses of mine--chance of freak of refracted light--all the rest of it. What’s the good, though, of getting all stirred up about it? If anybody was outside, he’s far enough away now. I’ll bet he’s running yet if he heard the crowd galloping out after him. Sit down, Trojan! You haven’t won a game.”