over the table to strike, and his head fell lower and lower till it hit
the table, and his spectacles came off, and when we--the Sahibs
and I myself--ran to lift him. He was dead. I helped to carry him
out. Aha, he was a strong Sahib! But he is dead and I, old Mangal
Khan, am still living, by your favor."

That was more than enough! I had my ghost--a firsthand,
authenticated article. I would write to the Society for Psychical
Research--I would paralyze the Empire with the news! But I
would, first of all, put eighty miles of assessed crop land between
myself and that dâk-bungalow before nightfall. The Society might
send their regular agent to investigate later on.

I went into my own room and prepared to pack after noting down
the facts of the case. As I smoked I heard the game begin
again,--with a miss in balk this time, for the whir was a short one.

The door was open and I could see into the room. _Click--click!_
That was a cannon. I entered the room without fear, for there was
sunlight within and a fresh breeze without. The unseen game was
going on at a tremendous rate. And well it might, when a restless
little rat was running to and fro inside the dingy ceiling-cloth, and
a piece of loose window-sash was making fifty breaks off the
window-bolt as it shook in the breeze!

Impossible to mistake the sound of billiard balls! Impossible to
mistake the whir of a ball over the slate! But I was to be excused.
Even when I shut my enlightened eyes the sound was marvelously
like that of a fast game.