In a few moments, a scuffling sound was heard in the closet, and Bott's
coat came flying out into the room. The believer pulled back the
curtain, and Botts sat in his chair, his shirt sleeves gleaming white
in the dust. His coat was laid over his shoulders, and almost as soon
as the curtain was lowered he yelled for light, and was disclosed
sitting tied as before, clothed in his right coat.

Again the curtain went down amid a sigh of satisfaction from the
admiring audience, and a choking voice, which tried hard not to sound
like Bott's, cried out from the closet: "Turn down the light; we want
more power." The kerosene lamp was screwed down till hardly a spark
illumined the visible darkness, and suddenly a fiery hand appeared at
the aperture of the closet, slowly opening and shutting its long
fingers.

A half dozen voices murmured: "A spirit hand"; but Sam Sleeny whispered
to Maud: "Them are Bott's knuckles, for coin." The hand was withdrawn
and a horrible face took its place--a pallid corpse-like mask, with
lambent fire sporting on the narrow forehead and the high cheek-bones.
It stayed only an instant, but Sam said, "That's the way Bott will look
in----"

"Hush!" said Maud, who was growing too nervous to smile, for fear of
laughing or crying.

A sound of sobbing came from a seat to the right of them. A poor woman
had recognized the face as that of her husband, who had died in the
army, and she was drawing the most baleful inferences from its fiery
adjuncts.