“Neither had I,” said Godfrey, “up to the time I took this place.  Even yet, I don’t know very much.  He’s the last of an old family, who made their money in real estate, and are supposed to have kept most of it.  He’s a widower with one daughter.  His wife died about ten years ago, and since then he has been a sort of recluse, and has the reputation of being queer.  He has been abroad a good deal, and it is only during the last year that he has lived continuously at this place next door, which is called Elmhurst.  That’s about all I’ve been able to find out.  He certainly lives a retired life, for his place has a twelve-foot wall around it, and no visitors need apply.”

“How do you know?”

“I tried to make a neighbourly call yesterday, and wasn’t admitted.  Mr. Vaughan was engaged.  Getting ready for his regular midnight hocus-pocus, perhaps!”

I took a meditative puff or two.

“Is it hocus-pocus, Godfrey?” I asked, at last.  “If it is, it’s a mighty artistic piece of work.”

“And if it isn’t hocus-pocus, what is it?” Godfrey retorted.  “A spiritual manifestation?”

I confess I had no answer ready.  Ideas which seem reasonable enough when put dimly to oneself, become absurd sometimes when definitely clothed with words.

“There are just two possibilities,” Godfrey went on.  “Either it’s hocus-pocus, or it isn’t.  If it is, it is done for some purpose.  Two men don’t go out on a roof every night at midnight and fire off a Roman candle and wave their arms around, just for the fun of the thing.”

“It wasn’t a Roman candle,” I pointed out.  “A Roman candle is visible when it’s going up, and bursts and vanishes at the top of its flight.  That light didn’t behave that way at all.  It formed high in the air, remained there stationary for a moment, gradually grew brighter, and then started to descend.  It didn’t fall, it came down slowly, and at an even rate of speed.  And it didn’t drift away before the breeze, as it would have done if it had been merely floating in the air.  It descended in a straight line.  It gave me the impression of moving as though a will actuated it—­as though it had a distinct purpose.  There was something uncanny about it!”

Godfrey nodded thoughtful agreement.

“I have felt that,” he said, “and I admit that the behaviour of the light is extraordinary.  But that doesn’t prove it supernatural.  I don’t believe in the supernatural.  Especially I don’t believe that any two mortals could arrange with the heavenly powers to make a demonstration like that every night at midnight for their benefit.  That’s too absurd!”

“It is absurd,” I assented, “and yet it isn’t much more absurd than to suppose that two men would go out on the roof every night to watch a Roman candle, as you call it, come down.  Unless, of course, they’re lunatics.”