psychic bid stand for in Mrs. Gunnison's vocabulary? Some kind of bluff in witchcraft? A pretense at giving up conjuring? "I wonder," Mrs. Carr murmured sweetly to Tansy, "if you're hiding a very strong hand this time, dear, and making a trap pass?" Rubber ruler. That was the trouble with imagination. According to a rubber ruler, an elephant would be no bigger than a mouse, a jagged line and a curve might be equally straight. He tried to think about the slam he had contracted for. "The girls talk a good game of bridge," murmured Gunnison in an undertone. Gunnison and Carr came out at the long end of two-thousand rubber and were still crowing pleasantly as they stood around waiting to leave. Norman remembered a question he wanted to ask Mrs. Gunnison. "Harold was telling me you had a number of photographs of that cement dragon or whatever it is on top of Estrey. It's right opposite my window." She looked at him for a moment, then nodded. "I believe I've got one with me. Took it almost a year ago." She dug a rumpled snapshot out of her handbag. He studied it, and experienced a kind of shiver in reverse. This didn't make sense at all. Instead of being toward the center of the roof ridge, or near the bottom, it was almost at the top. Just what was involved here? A practical joke stretching over a period of days or weeks? Or—His mind balked, like a skittish horse. Yet—Eppur si muove. He turned it over. There was a confusing inscription on the back, in greasy red crayon. Mrs. Gunnison took it out of his hands, to show the others. "The wind sounds like a lost soul," said Mrs. Carr, hugging her coat around her as Norman opened the door. "But a rather noisy one," her husband added with a chuckle. When the last of them were gone, Tansy slipped her arm around his waist, and said, "I must be getting old. It wasn't nearly as much of a trial as usual. They seemed almost human." Norman looked down at her intently. She was smiling peacefully. Totem had come out of hiding and was rubbing against
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