"It won't do, Pat. You're not telling me the truth. Not the whole truth. After your mother died, I changed the combination of the safe."
The girl's laugh had a queer, strained quality. "I know you did. What of it?"
"How could you get the letters to read?"
"I couldn't, at first."
"But you claim that you did. How?"
"Well—it was a dream. At least, it must have been a dream. Or else—I don't know. Mother came back one night and took me by the hand and led me into her room to the safe, and when I woke up the door was open and the numbers of the combination were in my brain as clearly as if someone had just spoken them in my ear."
"Were you frightened, Pat?"
"Not a bit. Isn't it strange? After that I could open it myself, any time."
"Pat, do you really think," he began hoarsely, and stopped.
"Do I think it was her spirit? I don't know. It was something."