to evolve themselves into being, and that by no means vanish at
cock-crow. My ghosts are those that move about among us in social
intercourse for days, months--sometimes years--according to their
several missions; ghosts that talk to us, imitate our customs and
ways, shake hands with us, laugh and dance with us, and altogether
comport themselves like human beings. Those are my kind of ghosts-
-'scientific' ghosts. There are hundreds, aye, perhaps thousands
of them in the world at this very moment."

An uncomfortable shudder ran through Courtney's veins; the
Doctor's manner seemed peculiar and uncanny.

"By Jove! I hope not!" he involuntarily exclaimed. "The orthodox
ghost is an infinitely better arrangement. One at least knows what
to expect. But a 'scientific' ghost that moves about in society,
resembling ourselves in every respect, appearing to be actually
human and yet having no humanity at all in its composition, is a
terrific notion indeed! You don't mean to say you believe in the
possibility of such an appalling creature?"

"I not only believe it," answered the Doctor composedly, "I know
it!"

Here the band crashed out "God save the Queen," which, as a witty
Italian once remarked, is the De Profundis of every English
festivity.

"But--God bless my soul!" began Courtney ...

"No, don't say that!" urged the Doctor. "Say 'God save the Queen.'