"Yes, that's the sole reason. How can I come forward, – the son who is supposed dead, – who is supposed to come back as a spook, – the son who has had a book written about him – "

"Oh, what a situation! And your father so wrapped up in the whole business, – so positive in his beliefs – "

"And that rascally medium!"

"And those wicked materializations!"

"And the fool Ouija Board!"

"And that letter from you to Julie – oh, I say!"

"And I say! But, tell me, what can I do? Do you see it as I do? That I must go away again, disappear forever, – or – "

"Or break your father's heart, – I mean, – oh, I don't know what I mean! Mr. Peter, I think I'll lose my mind!"

"I've almost lost mine, puzzling over the thing. But I've put the kibosh on that Parlato!"

"Oh, that's why you were there! I got things all wrong, didn't I? And you came to your own home – "

"Only because of a terrible attack of homesickness. You see, I still have my latch key, and if you hadn't seen me, I should have merely had a good look around, and then silently steal away, without, however, stealing anything else!"

Zizi smiled at her accusation of his burglarious intent, and then sat musing.

"I can't grapple with it," she said, at last. "It's too big. I shall telegraph for Mr. Wise. He must come back at once and help us."

"Now, look here, Miss Zizi, I'm not lying down on this job myself. I'm not asking you to carry my burdens or fight my battles. I am very much able to hoe my own row, – only I fear it's going to be a hard one. I'm going to depend on you for help, if I may, but I'll take the helm; Peter Boots leads, he doesn't follow."

Zizi gazed at him, her eyes moist with emotional admiration. This man, this splendid, fine man, – to efface himself to save his father's reputation, – it was too bad! She couldn't stand it.

"Now, wait," she began; "wouldn't your father, – your mother, – rather have you back with them in the flesh, – than to have their pride spared?"

"Answer that yourself," he returned. "I admit that if that question were put to them, they would doubtless say yes. But that's not the thing. The point is, they're reconciled to my loss, happy in the experiences they're having, – delusions though they are, – and contented, even exultant, in things as they are. Why disturb that happiness, for my selfish reasons? Why not leave them to their Fools' Paradise, – for that's what it is, – and not take the chance of what might easily be a distressing disillusion?"

"It would indeed be that," Zizi spoke gravely; "I know it would. But what will you do?"

"Go 'way off somewhere, – start fresh, – make a new name and fame for myself and forget – "

"Sacrifice your own identity to your father's reputation?"

"Exactly that, – and, simply, it is my duty."

"And Carlotta Harper?"

Peter jumped.

"Tell me about Carly," he said, speaking thickly. "Is she engaged to Shelby?"

"No, she isn't!"

"I heard she was."

"Probably he hinted it, and the report started. He's eternally after her, but, to my certain knowledge she hasn't yet said yes."

"Oh, my God! Dear little Carly! What can I do?"

"She would go with you, – into a new life – "

"No; don't be absurd! This secret must be kept inviolably. Nor could I marry her under an assumed name, even if she were willing. Also, she may have forgotten me."

"No, she has not. Oh, Mr. Peter, you must come home."

"I can't. But tell me more, – tell me of mother, of Julie, – why, I sent a reporter to the house just to get a line on home life, – on present conditions, – oh, little girl, you don't know what I suffered; it's all so foolish, – so absurd, – the spook stuff, I mean, – yet, as I've learned, it's the very breath of life to my Dad."

"It is; but, look at the thing from another angle. Couldn't you help unravel the Blair mystery. Here's Mr. Thorpe held for a crime I don't think he committed; here's Julie crying her eyes out because of it – "

"Julie! She and Thorpe!"

"Yes, didn't you know that?"

"No; are they engaged?"

"In a way. If Thorpe should be freed Mr. Crane will give his consent. If Thorpe is convicted – "

"He shan't be convicted! He never killed Blair! I'll find out who killed Blair, and then I'll go away after that. I'll help Julie, – why, Thorpe wouldn't kill Gilbert, why should he?"

"You've read the case?"

"Yes, and thought how little evidence there was against Thorpe. But, I'm ashamed to say, my own affairs rather blotted the matter out. But if Julie's concerned, that's another matter. I'll free Thorpe, – and I can do it, too!"

"Then it's most certainly your duty, for many reasons. Look here, Mr. Peter, don't let your ideas of duty get over-sentimental regarding your father."

"Oh, I don't!" Peter waxed impatient. "But I've mulled over the thing to the very end, and I know, I know father would be happier left to his delusions. Yes, and mother, too. You see, I've read the book, and knowing Dad as I do, I read between the lines, and I see how it would be like stabbing his heart and draining his life blood to stultify that book. No, Zizi, don't tempt me, – indeed, you can't."

"Well, then, come back to the murder case. Have you any suspect other than Thorpe?"

"Why, sometimes, I think I have. But it's a serious thing to accuse, without evidence. Now, I think I can get evidence, but mainly from Madame Parlato. You see, she has been bribed by a powerful influence, – she is absolutely under orders from some one, and it is because of that she is so frightened for fear of exposure. I think in the ordinary séance with my father, where my spirit – ugh! – appears and talks guff and rubbish, the medium is more fool than knave. But when the spirit gives information concerning the murderer, – and wrong information, – it's criminal work itself, and ought to be shown up."

"Showing up the medium would expose the falsity of your father's book, even without your reappearance."

"I've thought of that, but there's duty there, too. If I can free Mac Thorpe from unjust accusations, and incidentally, I'm thinking of Julie, – it's in all ways my duty to do so, – even if – "

"Even if it makes your father a butt for ridicule."

"Yes, even that. All things are matters of comparison. Thorpe's life, or even Thorpe's name mustn't be sacrificed to father's feelings. I may sacrifice my own future, even my own life if I choose, but not that of another."

"Are you sure Mr. Thorpe is innocent?"

"As sure as shooting! But you must tell me all the details of your investigations. I've studied the newspaper reports, but I want your accounts, too. When can you get Wise back here? Send for him at once, will you? He can't get anything on Blair out there. Blair's life was blameless. I know it as I know my own. Why, Zizi, you don't realize, – I've lived with my family and my friends for a whole long lot of years. I'm no newcomer, except regarding the last six months. You can't tell me of Blair's character, or Thorpe's either. Now, what I want to puzzle out is whether I can do my part in producing the real murderer, without revealing my presence here and without even showing my hand in the matter."

"You might appear as your own spook."

"I've thought of that, and it offers wide possibilities. But it isn't fair to mother and Dad. Let the medium fool them, if she will, it's not for their own son to fool them, too! No, I can't do that."

"You might appear to the – the criminal."

"And give him the scare of his life! Yes, I might do that. But I'm not yet sure he is the criminal, – I'm basing my suspicion on generalities, not any specific evidence."

"Tell me his name."

"Not yet. Let's plan a little first. You see, I've arranged a fake séance with Madame Parlato. If I rearrange it a bit, it may serve our purpose. I'll postpone it until Mr. Wise can get back, and then we'll see what we shall see!"

CHAPTER XVIII
The Confession

Peter Boots arranged and rearranged his plans for the séance many times.

Though still living under the name of Louis Bartram, he had cast aside fear of having his real identity discovered, pretty sure, now, that it must come sooner or later.

His present concern was with the discovery of Blair's murderer, and thereby the freeing of his sister's fiancé. These accomplished he would consider the case of his own restored identity, if it were not by that time a foregone conclusion.

Pennington Wise came back from the West, and was let into the secret.

His amazement was beyond all bounds when Zizi took him over to the Brooklyn hotel and he met Peter Crane.

"This thing has never been equaled in my experience," he declared. "And no one but Zizi could have found you out, unless you chose to make yourself known. Now, we must move warily, – your quarry may get away."

"You know whom I suspect?" asked Peter in astonishment.

"Of course I do, and I've had the same suspect from the beginning. But I couldn't get a shred of evidence, – haven't any yet, – I say, Mr. Crane, suppose you confide in me fully. You'll have no cause to regret it."

So Peter Boots and Pennington Wise and Zizi had a long confab, in which all cards were laid on the table, and all details of the plan settled.

Wise agreed that it would be a fearful blow to Benjamin Crane's pride, but he held that the author of the book about Peter would receive no blame and the fame of the affair would be world-wide, which would make up for the blow to the author's vanity.

Peter was not convinced of this, but agreed to go ahead as Wise suggested. Indeed, he had no choice, for it now rested on his statements whether an innocent man was tried for crime or not.

The medium was completely suborned. She was instructed that if she obeyed orders implicitly and succeeded in fulfilling the desires of her new employers, she would be paid a large sum of money, and enabled to leave the country secretly and safety.

For, after all, she was doing no more than the great army of "mediums" all over the world, and if she achieved good at last, they wished no harm to come to her.

"Moreover," as Peter said, "she was a great comfort to my parents in my absence, and when they know of my presence, they'll have no further use for Madame!"

The séance was staged in the Crane home.

It was a simple matter for Madame Parlato to persuade Benjamin Crane to allow her to hold a session there, promising him a probable materialization of his son, if allowed to attempt it in the scenes familiar to Peter Boots.

It was pathetic to see the hope and joy on the faces of Peter's father and mother as they were offered this experience. Gladly they accepted the proposition, and when the medium further advised them to invite a few friends, they willingly did so.

It was not announced that materialization was expected, – Madame Parlato preferred it should not be, she said; so the friends were merely asked to a séance.

After all, Zizi, who had charge of the invitations informed them, interest must be falling off, for no one was coming except Miss Harper, who would also bring Mr. Shelby.

However, with the Crane household, that made quite a group, and as Detective Weston had heard about it, and asked to be present he also had a seat, in the rear of the room.

There was no air of secrecy, the waiting audience were receptive, hopeful or skeptical as their natures prompted.

Shelby and Carlotta whispered to each other that they were glad to see a specimen of the genius that had hoaxed so able a mind as Benjamin Crane's. Julie was out of sorts and sad, for she disliked the whole subject, and pitied her father and mother for their absorption in it.

At last Madame Parlato appeared.

She was an impressive looking woman, tall, slender, and with the traditional long green eyes and red hair. Her face was very white, but she was calm and well-poised, and seemed to feel a great sense of responsibility.

She had not been informed of Peter's identity, but she knew him to be acquainted with the man whom she still considered dead, and she knew that Mr. Bartram was to impersonate Peter Crane.

She asked the eight people present to sit in a circle and join hands, allowing herself to make one of them.

Weston flatly refused to do this, saying he preferred to sit alone at the back of the room. He did so, and took his place near the door of the small library of Mr. Crane's, the session being held in the large living room.

The medium requested that the lights be shut entirely off, saying that sufficient illumination would come in from the street to prevent total darkness.

This proved to be true, and the dim light was just enough for them to distinguish one another's forms but not faces.

"Poppycock," whispered Shelby to Carlotta, as he held her hand.

Zizi, who sat on Shelby's other side, heard it and answered, "Absolutely."

Then the usual things happened. The medium went into a trance state, and the regular proceedings took place.

She gave messages to Mr. Crane, purporting to be from his dead son. She gave messages to Julie and to Peter's mother, all vapid and meaningless and mentally scoffed at by all present, except the two elderly listeners.

At last the medium said, "I am weary, – weary, – I would sleep. The spirit of Peter Crane himself would speak to you."

"Will you?" eagerly asked Benjamin Crane, "will you speak yourself, Peter?"

"Yes, father," came a reply, and everybody started.

Surely that was Peter's own voice! Not loud, almost a whisper, but with the unmistakable cadence and tone of Peter, himself.

"That's Peter!" cried Julie, excitedly, "oh, father, is it?"

"Hush, dear," her father said, himself greatly agitated. "One must be very calm and quiet on these occasions. Peter Boots, will you talk with us?"

"Gladly, Dad," came the voice again, – seeming to emanate from behind Detective Western's chair, – as indeed it did.

"Then tell us of yourself, my boy."

Mrs. Crane said no word, but sat, her hand in that of her husband, full of faith in the genuineness of it all, and ready to listen and believe.

"I am very happy here, father," Peter's voice declared, – and Zizi bit her lip to keep from smiling at the hackneyed phrase uttered by mortal tongue!

"You sound so real, Peter," Julie said, bluntly. "Is it always like this?"

For Julie had never attended a séance before.

"No, sister," the voice said, speaking more clearly with every word; "this is an unusual occasion. Perhaps, – perhaps the medium can bring about materialization to-night."

"Oh, don't," Julie cried out, "I'm scared!"

"Don't be frightened, Julie," Peter said, his voice faint again, "I won't hurt you."

The well-remembered gentleness reassured Julie, and she held tight to her parents' hands and listened.

"I have a message for each of you," the voice went on; "or you may each ask me a question, as you prefer."

"I'll ask," Julie exclaimed; "Peter, dear Peter Boots, tell me that Mac never killed Gilbert. I know it, yet I want you to say so. They told me you didn't know, and that you were misinformed and all that. You do know, don't you, Peter?"

"Yes, Julie, I know. And Mac didn't kill Gilbert at all. But I know who did. Shall I tell?"

"Yes," cried out several in chorus.

And then, from out the dark shadows behind Weston's chair, there slowly appeared a dark, cloaked form. A black-draped, hooded figure, that moved slowly toward them. A tall, big figure that seemed to loom out of the darkness, and then the hood fell back a little, a white ghostly face appeared dimly and a slowly raised hand pointed to Kit Shelby.

"Thou art the man!" came in low, accusing tones, and they were unmistakably Peter's.

Julie shrieked, and the accused man gave a strange, guttural sound, expressive of abject fear, and as the tall figure drew nearer, he rose to flee from its avenging shape.

Shelby didn't go far, for his progress was stopped by the burly form of Detective Weston, who advised him to sit down.

"Confess!" went on the figure that seemed to be Peter, and with wild eyes, fairly starting from their sockets at the sight, Shelby cried out, "I did, oh, Peter, I did!" and then he fell in a convulsion of fright and terror.

And then, Peter Boots himself switched on the lights, threw off his long cloak, and turned to take his mother in his arms.

"My boy, my boy!" she said, knowing intuitively and instantaneously that it was her son, alive and found.

Benjamin Crane was a picture of utter perplexity. Unable to accept the obvious, he tried for a moment to believe in a marvelous "materialization," but Peter came to him, smiling and holding out an eager hand.

"Welcome me home, Dad," he said, a quiver in his strong voice. "I know what a shock it is, but brace up and meet it, – I'm here, and very much alive. In fact, I never have been dead at all."

"Peter, – Peter," his father muttered, and fearing ill effects, Zizi came quickly to his side.

"Yes, Mr. Crane," she said in her brisk little way. "Peter Boots, home again. Never mind the spook stuff now. Cut it out, – forget it, – let him tell us of his adventures."

And now Carly came toward Peter.

One glance passed between them, and she was in his arms, a smiling, sweet Carly, who kissed him right before everybody, and said triumphantly, "I knew you'd come back!"

"Of course," said Peter, happily holding her to him. "I had to, the gypsies prophesied it, you know. They didn't mean come back as a silly old spirit, they meant come back in the flesh, and here I am. Kit, old man, I'm sorry."

And there was infinite sorrow and pity in the face that Peter turned on Shelby, who was still trembling and mouthing in a vain effort to speak.

"Get his confession," said Wise, lest when the shock wore off Shelby might dare deny it all.

But he couldn't speak, and out of very pity, Peter said, "I'll tell the details, and Shelby can nod assent."

"Go ahead," said Weston, his eye on his prisoner.

"I'll not tell of my experiences now, only to say there is no blame to be attached to Shelby or to Blair or to the guide for my accident. I fell in the snow, and somehow so managed to double my half-frozen legs under me that the silly things both broke. I floundered in the drifts but couldn't get up, nor could I make the boys hear my shouts, for the wind was against me. Well, I was picked up – after many hours – by some lumbermen and my tale of woe thereafter would fill a set of books. But never mind that now, I got home just as soon as I possibly could, having been absolutely unable to get a letter here any sooner than I could come myself. I came back to find that Dad, supposing me dead, had written a book, – oh, my eye! Dad, how you did butter me! Well, then I was up a stump to know whether to make my joyous presence known and spill the beans entirely or whether to sneak off, disappear forever and leave Dad to his laurel and bay."

"Peter! how could you dream of such a thing!" Benjamin Crane was himself now. "I'd a million times rather have you back than to have written all the books in the world!"

"But, father, think what people will say! I understand your book is read and discussed from pole to pole – "

"And it may be hooted at from pole to pole for all I care! Oh, Peter! Peter Boots! Good old chap!"

Peter's blue eyes beamed. The thing that had worried him most had turned out all right. Moreover, Carly seemed still kindly disposed toward him.

Remained only the dreadful business of Shelby and that must be put through.

"Then," Peter resumed, "I came home, and found old Gilbert Blair was dead. Murdered. And Mac Thorpe arrested for the crime.

"I know Thorpe, and I know he never did it. And I wondered. Then I read in father's book about that old tobacco pouch of mine being 'materialized.' So I knew there was trickery afoot. For I had handed that pouch to Kit only a short time before I fell down. And he hadn't handed it back. So, that accounted for its presence in the possession of the medium, though it didn't necessarily incriminate Shelby. He might have lost it or had it stolen from him.

"But, next I went to the Picture Show of 'Labrador Luck.' That, or at least the plot, the backbone of it, was Blair's and mine. Together we doped it out, sitting by our camp fire up there in the wilds, old Kit dozing near by. He talked with us about it now and then, but his plans were different from ours. All for a monster, spectacular production which he has achieved, while Blair and I planned a little light comedy affair. But the plot, the great theme of the thing, was Blair's, – and I denounce Kit Shelby as the murderer of Gilbert Blair for the purpose of using that plot alone and in his own way! Another motive lay in the fact of his admiration for Carlotta Harper, whom, he thought, Blair was about to marry.

"And, if these do not seem to you, Mr. Weston and Mr. Wise, sufficient motive for murder, I will inform you that Blair had discovered Shelby's visits to the medium, Parlato, and had learned that it was he who was responsible for the tobacco pouch, the handkerchief and that forged letter. Blair discovered or suspected all this, and went to the medium and forced her to admit he was correct.

"Wherefore, Shelby had to be exposed and ruined, or – had to close Blair's lips forever. He chose the latter course. The method was by a poisoned soda mint, as has been suspected, and this I know, because Shelby and I talked over methods of murder, when we were discussing detective stories, and he detailed to me the very plan that I am sure he used himself, that of putting one poisoned pellet in a bottle of plain ones, and letting the result happen when it might. His argument was, that the murderer would be far from the scene at the time death took place. These statements I submit, and if Christopher Shelby can deny or refute them, none will be more glad than I."

Shelly maintained a sullen silence, refusing to look at Peter at all.

But Weston adjured him to reply to the accusations with either confession or denial, and he muttered: "Of course it's all true. I got in deeper and deeper and there was no way out but to do for Blair. I began giving the medium things just for fun, – the whole matter seemed to me such rubbish, and I never dreamed Mr. Crane would take it so seriously. Then when he did, and when Blair found out I had primed the medium, and when I wanted his play and he wouldn't let me have it, and when I wanted his girl, – and when he declared he would expose the medium business, – I fell for the temptation. That's all."

He lapsed again into utter dejection and Weston led him away before he should collapse utterly.

"Now, Julie, you can have your Mac," Peter went on, smiling at his sister. "It's too late to-night – "

"Not a bit of it," declared Penny Wise, "come along, Miss Crane, I'll take you to him, and let you tell him yourself, and I shouldn't be surprised if he came back with you."

The two went off joyfully, leaving Peter to be lionized and petted by his adoring people.

Madame Parlato had long since disappeared, being allowed to get away unmolested because of the help she had been.

Then Peter and his parents had a talk, while Carlotta just sat and looked at the group, knowing her turn would come. Zizi, too, like a little dea ex machina, sat, gloating over the outcome of it all.

Benjamin Crane utterly refused to listen to a word of regret at his discredited book, – he only laughed happily and declared it was a joke on himself, and he didn't care what the result might be or what loss he might suffer in reputation or in pocketbook.

Mrs. Crane said little but she held tight to the hand of her boy, and lost herself in an oblivion of happiness.

And then, turning to Carlotta, Peter said, "And you thought I'd never come back?"

"Peter," Carly said, "I'm an expert Ouija Boarder. I have the reputation of making the Board say whatever I want it to. But my own theory is, that the little pointer always goes straight to the message that the performer wants. And whenever I tried it alone, and asked it if you'd come back to me, – it said you would."

Peter smiled at her, a little quizzically.

"I don't know, Carly, whether you're making that up or whether you mean it, but it doesn't matter, I did come back, – and I came back to you, – and for you. Which, being interpreted, means, that when you're ready to go home, I'll walk along with you. I'll have time to see the family here to-morrow."

Whereupon Carly smiled happily, and they two "walked along."