"I presume, since he had attained local celebrity as a ghost, he has passed over, as the spiritists say." "Sit down!" cried Furneaux savagely.
Hart sat down, and began filling that portentous pipe.
"You fellows merely ran into each other outside, I take it," he said, apparently by way of a chatty remark.

"The crack of the pistol-shot and the supposed resurrection of Owd Ben threw Mrs.Bates temporarily off her balance, so I helped in reviving her.

Between such a cook and such a ghost, who would hesitate ?" When Furneaux was really irritated, he swore in French.
_"Nom d'un bon petit homme gris!"_ he almost squealed, "why did you whip out that infernal revolver?
You spoiled everything, everything! Have you no sense in that picturesque head of yours?
Your skull is big enough to hold brains, not soap-bubbles." "Did your French father marry a Jap ?" inquired Hart, with sudden interest.
"And now you're insulting my mother," yelped the detective.
"Not I.You know nothing about the finest race of little women in the world, or you would not even imagine such rubbish." "But why, why, didn't you tell me that you saw someone outside ?" "You wouldn't have believed me.

The goblin was disappearing.

I had to shoot quick." "Why shoot at all ?" "Sir, there are certain manifestations I object to on principle.