“My dear,” Mrs. Dane said, reaching over and patting my wife’s hand, “people talked that way about Columbus and Galileo.  And if it is nonsense it is such thrilling nonsense!”

VI

I find that the solution of the Arthur Wells mystery—­for we did solve it—­takes three divisions in my mind.  Each one is a sitting, followed by an investigation made by Sperry and myself.

But for some reason, after Miss Jeremy’s second sitting, I found that my reasoning mind was stronger than my credulity.  And as Sperry had at that time determined to have nothing more to do with the business, I made a resolution to abandon my investigations.  Nor have I any reason to believe that I would have altered my attitude toward the case, had it not been that I saw in the morning paper on the Thursday following the second seance, that Elinor Wells had closed her house, and gone to Florida.

I tried to put the fact out of my mind that morning.  After all, what good would it do?  No discovery of mine could bring Arthur Wells back to his family, to his seat at the bridge table at the club, to his too expensive cars and his unpaid bills.  Or to his wife who was not grieving for him.

On the other hand, I confess to an overwhelming desire to examine again the ceiling of the dressing room and thus to check up one degree further the accuracy of our revelations.  After some debate, therefore, I called up Sperry, but he flatly refused to go on any further.

“Miss Jeremy has been ill since Monday,” he said.  “Mrs. Dane’s rheumatism is worse, her companion is nervously upset, and your own wife called me up an hour ago and says you are sleeping with a light, and she thinks you ought to go away.  The whole club is shot to pieces.”

But, although I am a small and not a courageous man, the desire to examine the Wells house clung to me tenaciously.  Suppose there were cartridges in his table drawer?  Suppose I should find the second bullet hole in the ceiling?  I no longer deceived myself by any argument that my interest was purely scientific.  There is a point at which curiosity becomes unbearable, when it becomes an obsession, like hunger.  I had reached that point.

Nevertheless, I found it hard to plan the necessary deception to my wife.  My habits have always been entirely orderly and regular.  My wildest dissipation was the Neighborhood Club.  I could not recall an evening away from home in years, except on business.  Yet now I must have a free evening, possibly an entire night.

In planning for this, I forgot my nervousness for a time.  I decided finally to tell my wife that an out-of-town client wished to talk business with me, and that day, at luncheon—­I go home to luncheon—­I mentioned that such a client was in town.

“It is possible,” I said, as easily as I could, “that we may not get through this afternoon.  If things should run over into the evening, I’ll telephone.”