“Phooey!” Myra snapped. “He’s trying to be temperamental. You came in two minutes after he’d rushed out. You didn’t see me floating in the air, did you?”
“I wouldn’t be sitting here, if I had,” I said with a grin. “I’d be running somewhere in the desert.”
“Well, there you are,” Myra said. “He’s suffering from delusions.”
“Suppose you go over your story again, Sam?” Ansell said kindly.
Bogle gave a little shiver and poured himself out another drink “I’ll go screwy if I even think about it,” he said in husky voice.
“You don’t have to worry about that,” Myra told him. “You’re as far gone as you ever will be. After all, there is a limit even to lunacy.”
Bogle screwed up his fists and faced us. “I don’t care what you punks say,” he snarled. “I believe my own peepers. I went into that room and there she was lying on the bed. I didn’t even have time to ask her how she was when she suddenly rose off the bed with the blanket over her and floated up to the ceiling, stiff, like she was held up by wires.”
We all exchanged glances.
“She just floated off the bed, eh?” I said. “You’ve never seen anyone else just float off a bed before, have you?”
Bogle shook his head. “No,” he said simply, “I ain’t and what’s more, I don’t ever want to see it again.”