When at last questions formed themselves in his fear-frozen brain they were, "How far will it come? Will the posts of my bed arrest it? If the bed crashes under the weight, what then?" While he was revolving these questions in his mind and wondering in a vague sort of way what chance he had of escaping from one of those third story windows, he noted with a start that the ceiling had ceased moving. It was as if its desire to hide great stretches of wall paper had, for the time at least, been satisfied. The ceiling having settled nine feet or more, Johnny found himself in quite a normal bed chamber. Windows were the proper height, pictures correctly hung and furniture matching it all very well. He settled back on his bed. It had been a long day. He would just lie there and keep a wary eye on that playful ceiling. CHAPTER XII THE WHISPERER RETURNS On the following morning at dawn the whisper returned to Grace Krowl's little parlor on Maxwell Street. She had just wakened and lay on her comfortable bed staring at the faint tracings of beautiful forms on her unusual walls, when she heard it. "A pleasant day to you! Here I am again, talking to you down a beam of light." Springing to her feet, she threw on a dressing gown and dashed into her parlor. She would trap the intruder. But she did not. As before, the room was empty. She took a seat by her table. "Ah! There you are!" There was a glad note in the whisper. "How beautiful is youth!" She flushed. "I have no message of importance for you today," the whisper went on steadily. "But tomorrow--who knows? "One request: do not disturb any object in your room. To do so may destroy the charm. And, in the end, you would regret it. "Let me assure you I am an honorable person. I am for the law--not against it. My motives are good. You may trust me. And you may believe me when I tell you I am more than a mile away." The girl started. There it was again. "More than a mile away. How could anyone be seen through a mile of space--much less send a whisper over that great distance? "A radio," she thought. A careful search revealed no sign of a radio. Only one object in her room was strange, the two foot reflector against the wall. "Dawn is passing," came once again in a whisper. "Like the fairies, I must be on my way. Cheerio, and a good day to you!" The room went suddenly silent. It was silence such as Grace Krowl had seldom experienced. Strangely enough, at the "House of Magic" in quite another section of the city, Johnny Thompson heard that same whisper. What was stranger still, the words were not the same. From this it might surely be learned that this was, at least, not a radio broadcast.