She took a seat by her table. “Ah! There you are!” There was a glad note in the whisper. “How beautiful is youth!” She flushed.
“I have no message of importance for you today,” the whisper went on steadily. “But tomorrow—who knows?
“One request: do not disturb any object in your room. To do so may destroy the charm. And, in the end, you would regret it.
“Let me assure you I am an honorable person. I am for the law—not against it. My motives are good. You may trust me. And you may believe me when I tell you I am more than a mile away.”
The girl started. There it was again. “More than a mile away. How could anyone be seen through a mile of space—much less send a whisper over that great distance?
“A radio,” she thought. A careful search revealed no sign of a radio. Only one object in her room was strange, the two foot reflector against the wall.
“Dawn is passing,” came once again in a whisper. “Like the fairies, I must be on my way. Cheerio, and a good day to you!” The room went suddenly silent. It was silence such as Grace Krowl had seldom experienced.
Strangely enough, at the “House of Magic” in quite another section of the city, Johnny Thompson heard that same whisper. What was stranger still, the words were not the same. From this it might surely be learned that this was, at least, not a radio broadcast.
He had fallen asleep staring at that magic ceiling that had a way of falling silently. He awoke at dawn, still staring at that ceiling. To his vast surprise, he found it now fully twenty feet above his head. “Was that way when I went to bed,” he assured himself. “Must have dreamed it—must—”
He broke short off to listen with all his ears. In a clear, distinct whisper had come a greeting: