much their belief ought to imply," confessed Henry.

"Why do they believe? Because most of them haven't really thought
about it more than a turnip thinks. They dwell in a foggy sort of
way on the future life when they go to church on Sundays; then they
return home and forget all about it till next Sunday."

Lennox brought him back to the present difference.

"Well, seeing you laugh at ghosts, and I remain doubtful, it's
only fair that I sleep in the Grey Room. You must see that.
Ghosts hate people who don't believe in them. They'd cold shoulder
you; but in my case they might feel I was good material, worth
convincing. They might show up for me in a friendly spirit. If
they show for you, it will probably be to bully you."

Tom laughed.

"That's what I want. I'd like to have it out and talk sense to a
spook, and show him what an ass he's making of himself. The
governor was right about that. When Fayre-Michell asked if he
believed in them loafing about a place where they'd been murdered
or otherwise maltreated, he rejected the idea."

"Yet a woman certainly died there, and without a shadow of reason."

"She probably died for a very good reason, only we don't happen to
know it."

Henry tried a different argument.