Spirit-rappin's! Somethin' fierce! My kitchen window is on the
air-shaft. So's his. Many's the time in the still evenin's I've
heard the rap-rap-rappin' on his window an' on the wall, but mostly
on the window. Blip! out of the dark. It'd make you just hop! And
him sittin' quiet and peaceful in the front room all the time. Yep;
my little girl seen him there while I was hearin' the raps."

"Did you ask him about them?" inquired Jones.

"Sure! He wouldn't have it at first. Then he kinder smiled and
half owned up. And once I seen him with his materializin' wand,
sittin' in the room almost dark."

"His what?"

"Materializin' wand. Spirit-rod, you know. As tall as himself and
all shiny and slick. It was slim and sort o' knobby like this wood--
what's the name of it, now?--they make fish poles out of. Only the
real big-bugs in spiritualism use 'em. They're dangerous. You
wouldn't caich me touchin' it or goin' in there even now. I says to
Mrs. Kraus, I says--"

And so the stream of high-pitched, eager talk flowed until the two
men escaped from it into the vacant apartment. This was much as
Average Jones had seen on his former visit. Only the strange valise
was missing. Going to the kitchen, which he opened through
intermediate doors on a straight line with the front room, Average
Jones inspected the window. The glass was thickly marked with
faint, bluish blurs, being, indeed, almost opaque from them in the
middle of the upper pane. There was nothing indicative below the