‘Did you ever see one yourself?’ interposed I, to keep the ball rolling.
‘Well, yes ... so far that ...’ she began, hesitatingly; but No. 1 broke in again with her vehement iteration that there are no ghosts.
‘I know there are, though,’ persisted No. 2; ‘for my mother has told me there is a house....’
‘Here in Rome?’ asked I.
‘Yes, here in Rome, where she used to work, where there was a ghost[3] that used to pull the bedclothes off anyone who slept in that particular room, and leave him uncovered. As fast as you pulled them over you, the spirit pulled them off again;’ and she imitated the movement with her hands.
2
‘Oibo!’ interposed No. 1. ‘I’ll tell you what ghosts are. Ghosts are most often robbers, who get people to think they are ghosts, in order to be able to rob in peace. There was a famous one, I remember well, about the year 1830, who used to be called the Ghost of St. John’s,[4] because he used to make himself heard in the houses about St. John Lateran. There were several robberies in the same neighbourhood just at the same time, but no one thought of connecting the two things, till at last one bethought him of it, and he laid in wait, pistol in hand, till the ghost came by.
‘By it came; and “pop!” went the pistol. And there, on the spot, lay the body of one whom the police didn’t see for the first time.
‘That’s what ghosts are!’