I had lifted the girl from the chair, and was turning toward the door, the doctor meanwhile advancing to open it. Before he could do so, however, the latch rattled, and the door swung open by itself. Quick as a flash, the doctor sprang out into the hall, peering this way and that.
“Nobody here,” he said. “Come on.”
I followed him down the hallway, this time close at his heels, with the girl still lying limply in my arms. He extended his hand, about to open the door which led to the front porch, when the knob turned, and this second door was opened as if by some invisible presence. Once more the doctor sprang forward, only to find the porch untenanted.
I laid the still unconscious girl in the porch swing, at the behest of the doctor, who informed me that she would regain consciousness more quickly in a reclining position.
“Now fan her with this magazine, Evans,” he instructed, handing me a copy of “_Science and Invention_” which he had taken from the porch table. He felt her pulse for a moment. “She’ll be all right in a few minutes. I’m going back to that room and have a look around. Keep fanning until she is fully revived.”
Interested as I was in the phenomena which were taking place, I was glad of this brief respite and a chance to inhale some fresh air. The girl, unconscious, was free from the sway of fear for the time being, and I knew from the reassuring manner of the doctor that she was in no danger. While I continued to ply the improvised fan I could hear the doctor, or someone, moving about the house.
Presently the girl’s eyelids fluttered, and she began talking—her words disconnected and broken like those of one in a dream.
“Saw it—saw—spirit—Uncle Gordon. Must be—be his—ghost. Saw—put arm—through it.”
Lightly I placed my hand on the smooth, cool forehead. Then she opened her eyes and looked earnestly into mine.
“What—what was I saying?” she asked, apparently quite bewildered.