resting place
in the center of the board. Then—
"My Gawd! It's moving!" said Lizzie in tones of pure horror as the
little pointer began to wander among the letters.
"You shoved it!"
"I did not—cross my heart, Miss Neily—I—" Lizzie's eyes were round,
her fingers glued rigidly and awkwardly to the ouija. As the movements
of the pointer grew more rapid her mouth dropped open—wider and
wider—prepared for an ear-piercing scream.
"Keep quiet!" said Miss Cornelia tensely. There was a pause of a few
seconds while the pointer darted from one letter to another wildly.
"B—M—C—X—P—R—S—K—Z—" murmured Miss Cornelia trying to follow
the spelled letters.
"It's Russian!" gasped Lizzie breathlessly and Miss Cornelia nearly
disgraced herself in the eyes of any spirits that might be present by
inappropriate laughter. The ouija continued to move—more
letters—what was it spelling?—it couldn't be—good
heavens—"B—A—T—Bat!" said Miss Cornelia with a tiny catch in her
voice.
The pointer stopped moving: She took her hands from the board.
"That's queer," she said with a forced laugh. She glanced at Lizzie to
see how Lizzie was taking it. But the latter seemed too relieved to
have her hands off the ouija-board to make the mental connection that
her mistress had feared.
All she said was, "Bats indeed! That shows it's spirits. There's been
a bat flying around this house all evening."
She got up from her chair tentatively, obviously hoping that the seance
was over.
"Oh, Miss Neily," she burst out. "Please let me sleep in your room
tonight! It's only when my jaw drops that I snore—I can tie it up
with a handkerchief!"
"I wish you'd tie it up with a handkerchief now," said her mistress
absent-mindedly, still pondering the message that the pointer had
spelled. "B—A—T—Bat!" she murmured.
Thought-transference—warning—accident? Whatever it was, it
was—nerve-shaking. She put the ouija-board aside. Accident or not,
she was done with it for the evening. But she could not so easily
dispose of the Bat. Sending a protesting Lizzie off for her reading
glasses, Miss Cornelia got the evening paper and settled down to what
by now had become her obsession. She had not far to search for a long
black streamer ran across the front page—"Bat Baffles Police Again."
She skimmed through the article with eerie fascination, reading bits of
it aloud for Lizzie's benefit.
"'Unique criminal—long baffled the police—record of his crimes shows
him to be endowed with an almost diabolical ingenuity—so far there is
no clue to his identity—'" Pleasant reading for an old woman who's
just received a threatening letter, she thought ironically—ah, here
was something new in a black-bordered box on the front page—a
statement by the paper.
She read it aloud. "'We must cease combing the criminal world for the
Bat and look higher. He may be a merchant—a lawyer—a Doctor—honored
in his community by day and at night a bloodthirsty assassin—'" The
print blurred before her eyes, she could read no more for the moment.
She thought of the revolver in the drawer of the table close at hand
and felt glad that it was there, loaded.
"I'm going to take the butcher knife to bed with me!" Lizzie was saying.
Miss Cornelia touched the ouija-board. "That thing certainly spelled
Bat," she remarked. "I wish I were a man. I'd like to see any lawyer,
Doctor, or merchant of my acquaintance leading a double life without my
suspecting it."
"Every man leads a double life and some more than that," Lizzie
observed. "I guess it rests them, like it does me to take off my
corset."
Miss Cornelia opened her mouth to rebuke her but just at that moment
there, was a clink of ice from the hall, and Billy, the Japanese,
entered carrying a tray with a pitcher of water and some glasses on it.
Miss Cornelia watched his impassive progress, wondering if the Oriental
races ever felt terror—she could not imagine all Lizzie's banshees and
kelpies
in the center of the board. Then—
"My Gawd! It's moving!" said Lizzie in tones of pure horror as the
little pointer began to wander among the letters.
"You shoved it!"
"I did not—cross my heart, Miss Neily—I—" Lizzie's eyes were round,
her fingers glued rigidly and awkwardly to the ouija. As the movements
of the pointer grew more rapid her mouth dropped open—wider and
wider—prepared for an ear-piercing scream.
"Keep quiet!" said Miss Cornelia tensely. There was a pause of a few
seconds while the pointer darted from one letter to another wildly.
"B—M—C—X—P—R—S—K—Z—" murmured Miss Cornelia trying to follow
the spelled letters.
"It's Russian!" gasped Lizzie breathlessly and Miss Cornelia nearly
disgraced herself in the eyes of any spirits that might be present by
inappropriate laughter. The ouija continued to move—more
letters—what was it spelling?—it couldn't be—good
heavens—"B—A—T—Bat!" said Miss Cornelia with a tiny catch in her
voice.
The pointer stopped moving: She took her hands from the board.
"That's queer," she said with a forced laugh. She glanced at Lizzie to
see how Lizzie was taking it. But the latter seemed too relieved to
have her hands off the ouija-board to make the mental connection that
her mistress had feared.
All she said was, "Bats indeed! That shows it's spirits. There's been
a bat flying around this house all evening."
She got up from her chair tentatively, obviously hoping that the seance
was over.
"Oh, Miss Neily," she burst out. "Please let me sleep in your room
tonight! It's only when my jaw drops that I snore—I can tie it up
with a handkerchief!"
"I wish you'd tie it up with a handkerchief now," said her mistress
absent-mindedly, still pondering the message that the pointer had
spelled. "B—A—T—Bat!" she murmured.
Thought-transference—warning—accident? Whatever it was, it
was—nerve-shaking. She put the ouija-board aside. Accident or not,
she was done with it for the evening. But she could not so easily
dispose of the Bat. Sending a protesting Lizzie off for her reading
glasses, Miss Cornelia got the evening paper and settled down to what
by now had become her obsession. She had not far to search for a long
black streamer ran across the front page—"Bat Baffles Police Again."
She skimmed through the article with eerie fascination, reading bits of
it aloud for Lizzie's benefit.
"'Unique criminal—long baffled the police—record of his crimes shows
him to be endowed with an almost diabolical ingenuity—so far there is
no clue to his identity—'" Pleasant reading for an old woman who's
just received a threatening letter, she thought ironically—ah, here
was something new in a black-bordered box on the front page—a
statement by the paper.
She read it aloud. "'We must cease combing the criminal world for the
Bat and look higher. He may be a merchant—a lawyer—a Doctor—honored
in his community by day and at night a bloodthirsty assassin—'" The
print blurred before her eyes, she could read no more for the moment.
She thought of the revolver in the drawer of the table close at hand
and felt glad that it was there, loaded.
"I'm going to take the butcher knife to bed with me!" Lizzie was saying.
Miss Cornelia touched the ouija-board. "That thing certainly spelled
Bat," she remarked. "I wish I were a man. I'd like to see any lawyer,
Doctor, or merchant of my acquaintance leading a double life without my
suspecting it."
"Every man leads a double life and some more than that," Lizzie
observed. "I guess it rests them, like it does me to take off my
corset."
Miss Cornelia opened her mouth to rebuke her but just at that moment
there, was a clink of ice from the hall, and Billy, the Japanese,
entered carrying a tray with a pitcher of water and some glasses on it.
Miss Cornelia watched his impassive progress, wondering if the Oriental
races ever felt terror—she could not imagine all Lizzie's banshees and
kelpies
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