She held out to them a dirty piece of drawing-paper on which was executed roughly in water colours a sketch of a woman. It was a mere daub, but the likeness was probably good enough. It represented a tall fair woman, with something subtly un-English about her face. She was standing by a table on which was standing a blue china jar.

‘I only found it this morning,’ explained Felise. ‘Monsieur le docteur, that is the face of the woman I saw in my dream, and that is the identical blue jar.’

‘Extraordinary,’ commented Lavington. ‘The key to the mystery is evidently the blue jar. It looks like a Chinese jar to me, probably an old one. It seems to have a curious raised pattern over it.’

‘It is Chinese,’ declared Jack. ‘I have seen an exactly similar one in my uncle’s collection—he is a great collector of Chinese porcelain, you know, and I remember noticing a jar just like this a short time ago.’

‘The Chinese jar,’ mused Lavington. He remained a minute or two lost in thought, then raised his head suddenly, a curious light shining in his eyes. ‘Hartington, how long has your uncle had that jar?’

‘How long? I really don’t know.’

‘Think. Did he buy it lately?’

‘I don’t know—yes, I believe he did, now I come to think of it. I’m not very interested in porcelain myself, but I remember his showing me his “recent acquisitions”, and this was one of them.’

‘Less than two months ago? The Turners left Heather Cottage just two months ago.’

‘Yes, I believe it was.’

‘Your uncle attends country sales sometimes?’

‘He’s always tooling round to sales.’

‘Then there is no inherent improbability in our assuming that he bought this particular piece of porcelain at the sale of the Turners’ things. A curious coincidence—or perhaps what I call the groping of blind justice. Hartington, you must find out from your uncle at once where he bought this jar.’

Jack’s face fell.

‘I’m afraid that’s impossible. Uncle George is away on the Continent. I don’t even know where to write to him.’

‘How long will he be away?’

‘Three weeks to a month at least.’

There was a silence. Felise sat looking anxiously from one man to the other.

‘Is there nothing that we can do?’ she asked timidly.

‘Yes, there is one thing,’ said Lavington, in a tone of suppressed excitement. ‘It is unusual, perhaps, but I believe that it will succeed. Hartington, you must get hold of that jar. Bring it down here, and, if Mademoiselle permits, we will spend a night at Heather Cottage, taking the blue jar with us.’

Jack felt his skin creep uncomfortably.

‘What do you think will happen?’ he asked uneasily.

‘I have not the slightest idea—but I honestly believe that the mystery will be solved and the ghost laid. Quite possibly there may be a false bottom to the jar and something is concealed inside it. If no phenomena occur, we must use our own ingenuity.’