“I’m willing, Miss Webb; I’ll do anything I can to help you,—but what shall we do? Are you sure Kimball isn’t in the house?”
“I’m not sure of anything! I only know he is not in evidence; that his bed was slept in, but that he has disappeared,—and, disappeared, leaving his room locked on the inside.”
“What! impossible! How did he get out?”
“That’s the mystery. Oh, Mr. Whiting, think of the situation! Today is his wedding day—”
“Well, I ought to know that! I’m best man.”
“Of course you are. But you can’t be best man without a bridegroom!”
“He’ll turn up, of course. But it is queer! Who can be responsible for the performance?”
“Can you guess? Who, of all the men there last night would be the most likely ones?”
“Nothing like that happened, Mr. Whiting,” broke in Mrs. Webb, who till now had silently listened; “Kimball couldn’t have been tricked out of that room. A human being can’t leave a locked room by human means. He was supernaturally removed. I am a believer in Spiritism, I know all about its manifestations and I am sure my son was levitated—”
“Levitated? What does that mean, Mrs. Webb?” the puzzled visitor inquired.