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"He is afraid to believe!" declared the voice, with great emphasis. There was a pause; and

then: "You are not a Frenchman."

"I have tried to be," said Zaharoff. Lanny had told him to answer every question promptly

and truly, but to say no more than necessary.

"But you were not born in France. I see dark people about you, and they speak a strange

language which I do not understand. It will not be easy for me to do anything for you. Many

spirits come; you have known many people, and they do not love you; it is easy to see it in their

faces. I do not know what is the matter; many of them talk at once and I cannot get the

words."

V

From where Lanny sat he could watch the face of Madame, and saw that it was disturbed, as

always when Tecumseh was making a special effort to hear or to understand. By turning his eyes

the observer could watch the face of the old munitions king, which showed strained attention.

On the arm of Lanny's chair was a notebook, in which he was setting down as much as he could of

what was spoken.

Suddenly the control exclaimed: "There is a man here who is trying to talk; to you, not to me.

He is a very thin old man with a white beard. He says, in very bad English, he was not always

like that, he had a black beard when he knew you. His name is like Hyphen; also he has another

name, Tidy; no, it is one name, very long; is it Hyphen-tidies? A Greek name, he says,

Hiphentides. Do you know that name?"

"No," said Zaharoff.

"He says you lie. Why do you come here if you mean to lie?"

"I do not recall him."

"He says you robbed him. What is it he is talking about? He keeps saying gall; you have gall;

many sackfuls of gall. Is it a joke he is making?"

"It must be." Zaharoff spoke with quiet decisiveness. Of all the persons Lanny knew, he was

the most completely self-possessed.

"He says it is no joke. Gall is something that is sold. A hundred and sixty-nine sacks of gall.

Also gum, many cases of gum. You were an agent." Tecumseh began to speak as if he were the

spirit, something which he did only when the communications came clearly. "You took my

goods and pledged them for yourself. Do you deny it?"

"Of course I do."

"You did not deny it in the London court. You pleaded guilty. You were in prison—what is it?—

the 'Old' something, Old Basin? It was more than fifty years ago, and I do not remember."

"Old Bailey?" ventured Lanny.

"That is it—Old Bailey. I was in Constantinople, and I trusted you. You said you did not know

it was wrong; but they were my goods and you got the money—"

The voice died away; it had become querulous, as of an old man complaining of something long

forgotten. If it wasn't real it was certainly well invented.

VI

Lanny stole a glance at the living old man, and it seemed to him there was a faint dew of

perspiration on his forehead. From what Robbie had told him he was prepared to believe that

the Knight Commander of the Bath and Grand Officer of the Legion of Honor had many

recollections which he would not wish to have dragged into the light of day.

Said Tecumseh, after a pause: "I keep hearing the name Mugla. What is Mugla?"

"It is the village where I was born."

"Is that in Greece?"

"It is in Turkey."

"But you are not a Turk."

"My parents were Greeks."

"Somebody keeps calling you Zack. Then I hear Ryas. Is your name Ryas?"

"Zacharias is one of my names."

"There is a man here who says he is your uncle. Anthony; no, not that. I don't know these

Greek names."

"I had an Uncle Antoniades."

"He says: 'Do you wish to talk to me?'"

"I do not especially wish it."

"He says: 'Ha, ha!' He does not like you either. You were in busi ness with him, too. It was not

so good. You made up wonderful stories about it. Do you write stories, or something like that?"

"I am not a writer."

"But you tell stories. All the spirits laugh when Uncle Antoniades says that. You have become

rich and important and you tell stories about the old days. They tell stories about you. Do you

wish to hear them?"

"That is not what I came for."

"There is a big strong man with a white beard; it looks like your own, only more of it. He

gives the name Max. He speaks good English—no, he says it is not good, it is Yankee. Do you

know the Yankee Max?"'

"I don't recognize him."

"He says he is Maxim. You were in business with him, too."

"I knew a Maxim."

"You bought him out. He made millions, but you made tens of millions. There was no stopping

you. Maxim says he did not believe in the future life, but he warns you, it is a mistake; you will

be happier if you change all that materialism. Do you know what he means?"

"It does not sound like him."

"I have put off the old man. I was a strapping fellow. I could lick anybody in the Maine

woods. I could lick anybody in Canada, and I did. I licked you once, you old snollygoster. Does

that sound more like me?"

"Yes, I recognize that."

"I once wrote the emperor's name with bullets on a target. You haven't forgotten that,

surely!"

"I remember it."

"All right, then, wake up, and figure out how you will behave in a better world. You cannot