"I tried to make a neighbourly call yesterday, and wasn't admitted.
Mr. Vaughan was engaged. Getting ready for his regular midnight
hocus-pocus, perhaps!"

I took a meditative puff or two.

"_Is_ it hocus-pocus, Godfrey?" I asked, at last. "If it is, it's a
mighty artistic piece of work."

"And if it isn't hocus-pocus, what is it?" Godfrey retorted. "A
spiritual manifestation?"

I confess I had no answer ready. Ideas which seem reasonable enough
when put dimly to oneself, become absurd sometimes when definitely
clothed with words.

"There are just two possibilities," Godfrey went on. "Either it's
hocus-pocus, or it isn't. If it is, it is done for some purpose. Two
men don't go out on a roof every night at midnight and fire off a
Roman candle and wave their arms around, just for the fun of the
thing."

"It wasn't a Roman candle," I pointed out. "A Roman candle is visible
when it's going up, and bursts and vanishes at the top of its flight.
That light didn't behave that way at all. It formed high in the air,
remained there stationary for a moment, gradually grew brighter, and
then started to descend. It didn't fall, it came down slowly, and at
an even rate of speed. And it didn't drift away before the breeze, as
it would have done if it had been merely floating in the air. It