I find that the solution of the Arthur Wells mystery - for we did solve it - takes
three divisions in my mind. Each one is a sitting, followed by an investigation
made by Sperry and myself.
But for some reason, after Miss Jeremy's second sitting, I found that my
reasoning mind was stronger than my credulity. And as Sperry had at that time
determined to have nothing more to do with the business, I made a resolution to
abandon my investigations. Nor have I any reason to believe that I would have
altered my attitude toward the case, had it not been that I saw in the morning
paper on the Thursday following the second seance, that Elinor Wells had closed
her house, and gone to Florida.
I tried to put the fact out of my mind that morning. After all, what good would it
do? No discovery of mine could bring Arthur Wells back to his family, to his seat
at the bridge table at the club, to his too expensive cars and his unpaid bills. Or
to his wife who was not grieving for him.
On the other hand, I confess to an overwhelming desire to examine again the
ceiling of the dressing room and thus to check up one degree further the
accuracy of our revelations. After some debate, therefore, I called up Sperry, but
he flatly refused to go on any further.
"Miss Jeremy has been ill since Monday," he said. "Mrs. Dane's rheumatism is
worse, her companion is nervously upset, and your own wife called me up an
hour ago and says you are sleeping with a light, and she thinks you ought to go
away. The whole club is shot to pieces."
But, although I am a small and not a courageous man, the desire to examine the
Wells house clung to me tenaciously. Suppose there were cartridges in his table
drawer? Suppose I should find the second bullet hole in the ceiling? I no longer