As we were talking over the case a messenger arrived with a note
from O'Connor. It was written with his usual brevity: "Have just
found from servants that Farrington and Mrs. P. have key to
Vandam house. Wish I had known it before. House shadowed. No one
has entered or left it to-night."

Craig looked at his watch. It was a quarter after one. "The ghost
won't walk to-night, Walter," he said as he entered his bedroom
for a much-needed rest. "I guess I was right after all in getting
the capsules as soon as possible. The ghost must have flitted
unobserved in there this morning directly after the maid brought
them back from the druggist."

Again, the next morning, he had me out of bed bright and early.
As we descended from the Sixth Avenue "L," he led me into a
peculiar little shop in the shadow of the "L" structure. He
entered as though he knew the place well; but, then, that air of
assurance was Kennedy's stock in trade and sat very well on him.

Few people, I suppose, have ever had a glimpse of this workshop
of magic and deception. This little shop of Marina's was the
headquarters of the magicians of the country. Levitation and
ghostly disappearing hands were on every side. The shelves in the
back of the shop were full of nickel, brass, wire, wood, and
papier-mache contrivances, new and strange to the eye of the
uninitiated. Yet it was all as systematic as a hardware shop.

"Is Signor Marina in?" asked Craig of a girl in the first room,
given up to picture post-cards. The room was as deceptive as the
trade, for it was only an anteroom to the storeroom I have