"Yes," he was saying, "I am what is called a superstitious man. I believe in dreams, visions, and returned spirits of the dead. But, ah! I do not believe in made-up ghosts. Oh, you cold-blooded English people, don't mistake the impulsive Egyptian; don't accuse him of lack of faith in the unseen. So much do I believe in it, that sometimes I long to be with those who have gone. But, bah! the ghost last night was to deceive, to frighten. Got up by some villain for a purpose, and I can guess who he is." "This is serious," said Tom Temple. "I have inquired of the servants, who all assure me of their entire ignorance of the matter, and I cannot think that any of my guests would assume the person of the traditional ghost for no other purpose than to frighten the housekeeper and two or three servants. I'm by no means superstitious, but I do not see how I can trace it to human origin." "I cannot see why any guest should assume the person of the traditional ghost, but some men have deep designing minds. They are like clever draught-players; they see half-a-dozen moves ahead, and so do that which to a novice appears meaningless and absurd." Then I heard another voice, one that caused my heart to beat wildly. It was Gertrude Forrest's. "Mr. Kaffar says he can guess who the person is who has personated this ghost," she said; "I think it fair to every guest that he should speak out." "I would not like to say," he said insultingly; "perchance I should wound _your_ tender feelings too deeply." "Mr. Kaffar will remember he's speaking to a lady, I'm sure," said Tom Temple. "Pardon me," said Kaffar, excitedly; "I forgot I was in England, where men are the slaves of the ladies. With us it is different. We speak and they obey. I forgot I was not in Egypt. I have done very wrong. I implore the lady's pardon." "I see no meaning in your words," said Miss Forrest, quietly, "therefore I see nothing to forgive." "Ah, I live again. A heavy load is gone from my heart! I have not merited the lady's displeasure." "Still I think it right, if you have grounds for suspecting any one, that we should know," said a voice; "otherwise some one may be wrongly accused." "Do not ask me," said Kaffar. "Ask Mr. Blake." Instantly all eyes were turned on me, and, do as I might, I could not help an uncomfortable flush rising in my face. "I do not know what Mr. Kaffar means," I replied. "I am as ignorant as to the origin of the ghost as he is, perhaps more so." Instantly Kaffar leapt from his chair, and came up to me, his hands clenched, his black eyes gleaming, his teeth set together as if in a terrible rage. "You are a liar and a villain!" he screamed. "Ah, remember this morning. I accused him, gentlemen, of being connected with this ghost only to-day, and he flushed guiltily and was silent. He looked like a Judas who betrayed his master."