There was a silence, and then, apparently from nowhere, a handkerchief fluttered through the air and fell at Zizi's feet.

Amazed, the girl picked it up, and though she could not see it distinctly, she discovered it was a large one, evidently a man's.

Suddenly the medium sat up straight, came out of her trance, and putting on the lights, said, eagerly, "Did you get any message?"

"I should say I did!" Zizi returned, "and a material proof, too. Look!"

"Wonderful!" exclaimed Madame Parlato, as she looked at the white square of linen. "Initialed, too."

"Yes, P. C.," and Zizi scrutinized the embroidery.

Pennington Wise expressed a polite admiration for the medium who could bring about such marvelous results, and the _seance_ over, the two departed, Zizi carrying the handkerchief in her bag.

"One of a set of Peter's," Wise said, confidently.

"Of course. Julie or Mrs. Crane will recognize it. Funny, how she thought a crude performance like that would convince us!"

"Mighty well done though."

"Pooh, in a darkened room one can do anything."

"Well, where did she get the handkerchief?"

"Dunno, yet. Maybe the Cranes left it there by chance."

"Oh, no, that won't do. Guess again."

"I think I could if I tried. But we'll see what the family say about it."

Both Mrs. Crane and Julie declared the handkerchief to be one of Peter's own, and, moreover, that it was one of a set Carlotta had embroidered for him just before he went to Labrador. And he had taken the whole dozen with him, of that they were both sure. It had been Carly's parting gift, and Peter had been delighted with it.

"It's too wonderful!" Julie said, amazed. "Now, how do you explain it, Zizi? We know this to be Peter's own handkerchief. We know he took it to Labrador with him. How did it get back here? How get into Madame Parlato's possession? And how appear to you, out of nothingness?"

"Yes," said Benjamin Crane, smiling happily, "answer those questions satisfactorily, or else admit that it is real materialization!"

Wise looked a little nonplused. Positive though he was of the medium's trickery, he could not tell Mr. Crane exactly how it had come about.

Materialization was easy enough for a charlatan, but, as had been said, where could she get the handkerchief to do the trick with?

Convinced of the Cranes' honesty, of course, Wise couldn't doubt that Peter had taken all the handkerchiefs with him. His luggage had never been sent home, therefore how did the handkerchief get to New York, and more especially how did it get to Madame Parlato?

"I can't explain it yet," Wise said, frankly, "but I'll find out all about it. To you, Mr. Crane, it seems additional proof of your son's communication through that medium. To me it is additional and very strong proof of her fraud. Now, we'll leave it at that for the present, but I promise to explain it to you soon."

"All right, Mr. Wise, you'll not be offended, I trust, if I say I don't believe you can make good your word. But I'm not surprised at your att.i.tude. Some minds are almost incapable of belief in the occult, and will accept the most absurd and far-fetched explanations rather than the simple and plausible one of spirit communication. I can't understand such a mental att.i.tude, but I've met so many like you that I'm obliged to recognize its existence."

"Oh, Mr. Wise," Mrs. Crane said, "it does seem so strange that a clear-headed, deep-thinking man like yourself prefers to believe that Madame Parlato could get Peter's handkerchief and could produce it so mysteriously for you rather than the rational belief that Peter sent it himself."

Zizi looked at the speaker with kindly eyes.

"Dear Mrs. Crane," she said, "what will hurt me most when we expose that medium's fraud is the fact of your disappointment."

"Don't worry about that," smiled Benjamin Crane, "you haven't exposed her yet! Meantime, I shall incorporate this experience of the handkerchief in my next book."

"Oh, don't!" cried Zizi, involuntarily. "You'll make yourself a laughing-stock----"

She paused, unwilling to hurt his feelings.

But so a.s.sured of his beliefs was Benjamin Crane that he shook his head and said:

"No fear of that, child. I'll take all risks. Have you any idea how my book has been received? It's just gone into another big edition, and my publishers are clamoring for my second book, which is nearly finished.

But to return to the case of McClellan Thorpe. Did Peter tell you----"

"Yes," Wise said, "according to Madame Parlato, the spirit of your son said that Thorpe is the criminal, and it was as proof of ident.i.ty that Zizi received the handkerchief."

"Fine," said Crane, nodding his satisfaction, "I think I'll use that _seance_ for the finale of my book, and get it in press at once."

"Do, dear," said his wife, "as far as the handkerchief is concerned. But don't put in the book that Mac killed Gilbert."

"Oh, no, certainly not. In the first place, we're all agreed that though Peter believes that, it is a mistake on his part; that is, it may be a mistake. Don't let it influence you too much, Mr. Wise."

Penny Wise laughed outright. He couldn't help it.

"No, sir," he promised, "I won't!"

"But have you any other suspect?"

"I'd rather not answer that question quite yet, Mr. Crane."

"All right, take your own time. I've confidence you'll do all you can, but my hopes of your success are dwindling."

"Don't feel that way, on the contrary, I'm beginning to see at least a way to look for another suspect."

"Look hard, then. For I want to get Mac cleared as soon as it can be brought about."

"We'll hope to do that. I'm going over to the Studios now, and I've a notion I'll discover something."

Accompanied by Zizi, Wise went to the home that Blair and Thorpe had occupied, and which was now in charge of the police.

The detective set himself to the task of looking over old letters and papers in hope of finding out some secret of the dead man's past.

Zizi flitted about the rooms, looking for nothing in particular, and everything in general.

"I've sized up his medicines," she said, coming from Blair's bedroom into the studio where Wise sat at the desk.

"His cough syrup hasn't been touched lately. The dried up stickiness of the cork shows that. And one or two other bottles are in the same condition. But in the waste basket in his bedroom I found this."

She held up an empty bottle that was labeled soda mints.

"There's a new full bottle in the medicine chest," she went on, "and as this was in the basket, mayn't it be that he took the last ones, and----"