"Valentine," he exclaimed hoarsely, "I see nothing, but I've got hold of
the hand still. I've got it tight. Put your hand here--that's it--under
mine. Now d'you feel the thing?"

Julian's hand, contracted as if grasping another, was in the air, about
an inch, or an inch and a half, above the surface of the table. Valentine
obediently thrust his hand beneath it. He now shook his head.

"I feel nothing," he said. "There is nothing."

"Then am I mad?" said Julian. "I'm holding flesh and blood. I'll swear
that. Yes, I can feel the fingers twitching, the muscles, the bones. I
can even trace the veins. What does this mean?"

"I can't tell."

"You look very strange, Valentine. You are certain you see and feel
nothing?"

"Nothing whatever," Valentine forced himself to answer calmly.

"We'll see this through," said Julian with a sort of angry determination.
"I won't be frightened by a hand. We'll see it through. Out with the
light."

Valentine turned it off. The action was purely mechanical. He had to
perform it, whether he would or no.

"Don't speak," he whispered to Julian in the darkness. "Don't speak,