“Personal! . . .  Well, I’ll be dummed if this ain’t the nerviest piece of brass cheek ever I—­ Say, look here, Bangs!  Why didn’t you tell me you’d bought them shares?  What did you—­ Why, you must have had ’em all the time I was offerin’ you commissions for buyin’ ’em.  Hey?  Did you have ’em then?”

“Why—­ah—­yes, I did.”

“And you never said nothin’, but just let me talk!  And—­and how about this seance thing?  You was the one put me up to making Marietta pretend to get messages from Jeth’s wife tellin’ him to sell his stock to me.  You done it.  I’d never thought of it if you hadn’t put the notion in my head.  And—­and all the time—­ Oh, by cripes!”

Again his agitation brought on a fit of incoherence.  And he was not the only astonished person about that table.  Galusha, however, was quite calm.  He continued to fold and unfold his napkin.

“It may be,” he said, slowly, “that I owe you an apology, Mr. Pulcifer.  I did deceive you, or, at least, I did not undeceive you.”  He paused, sighed, and then added, with a twisted smile, “I seem to have been a—­ah—­universal deceiver, as one might say.  However, that is not material just now.  I had what seemed to me good reasons for wishing Captain Hallett to learn that Miss Hoag was not a genuine—­ah—­psychic.  It occurred to me that a mention of his late wife’s wish to have him sell something he did not possess might accomplish that result.  I misled you, of course, and I apologize, Mr. Pulcifer.  I am sorry, but it seemed necessary to do so.  Yes, quite.”

He ceased speaking.  Martha drew a long breath.  Mr. Cabot looked very much puzzled.  Raish slowly shook his head.  “Well!” he began; tried again, but only succeeded in repeating the word.  Then he blurted out his next question.

“Who’d you buy them shares for?”

“Eh?  For?”

“Yes, for.  Who did you buy Cap’n Jeth’s and Martha’s stock for?  Who got you to buy it?  ’Twasn’t the Trust Company crowd, was it?”

“The Trust Company?  I beg pardon?  Oh, I see—­I see.  Dear me, no.  I bought the stock myself, quite on my own responsibility, Mr. Pulcifer.”

Raish could not believe it.  “You bought it yourself!” he repeated.  “No, no, you don’t get me.  I mean whose money paid for it?”

“Why, my own.”

Still it was plain that Horatio did not believe.  As a matter of fact, the conviction that Galusha Bangs was poverty-stricken was so thoroughly implanted in the Pulcifer mind that not even a succession of earthquakes like the recent disclosures could shake it loose.  But Raish did not press the point, for at that moment a new thought came to him.  His expression changed and his tone changed with it.

“Say, Bangs,” demanded he, eagerly, “do you mean you’ve still got that six hundred and fifty Development?  Mean you ain’t turned ’em over yet to anybody else?”