"Well, to begin with, pretty nearly everything took place in the dark."
"It's always so," exclaimed Kate. "I wonder why?"
He shrugged his shoulders. "They all say 'light is antagonistic to the power.' You can draw your own inference."
Morton spoke. "I never could understand why they didn't make a special effort to avoid that criticism."
"Well, tell us what happened," cried Kate. "I'm on the edge of my chair with interest."
Britt looked at Morton. "That's the curious thing, isn't it? People are interested. The fact is, we all secretly hope the ghost-story may turn out to be true."
Kate laughed. "You're perfectly right. We all pooh-pooh, but we'd be bitterly disappointed if all spirit footsteps turned out to be rats rolling nuts. But please hurry—wasn't any of it true?"
"Now, I'm going to be candid—"
At this Morton leaned forward with excess of interest, and Kate exulted. "Good! Now it's coming. Be as candid as you can."
Britt went on musingly. "One night as I sat between Viola and the closed piano, the spook, or whatever it was, ran up and down the keys—now on the treble, now on the bass—keeping time to my whistling."