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the car up to the entrance of the headquarters offices, swung open the rear door, and escorted the Warrens to a head officer of West Point.
    Major Donald Wilson, an orderly, good-natured man, offered Ed and Lorraine a seat in his office. He then briefed them on an already prepared schedule: dinner with the officers of the faculty at six, followed by a general lecture to all classes at eight.
    “One more thing...” For the next few minutes, Major Wilson went on to explain how an unaccountable breach of security was occurring in the home of West Point’s Superintendent—the commanding general. Naturally, the military police had already been over the problem, but to no avail, he conceded. Matters had only gotten worse. Therefore, it had been decided to get an outside opinion on a problem that appeared to have no natural explanation. “So if there’s no objection, the Superintendent would like to speak with you before dinner.”
    “We’ll be glad to help,” Ed replied. “Do you know the nature of the problem?”
    “Between us...” the major almost broke into a grin, “there’s a ghost in the general’s quarters.”
    Switching off the lights, the officer took his cap, escorted the Warrens out the office door and introduced them to an Army photographer who sat waiting in the hallway. Strict limits had been placed on the collection of information that day—all documentary records would be the property of the U.S. government.
    Outside, the call of cadences broke the silence as cadets marched through the gray stillness of the afternoon. The group took a leisurely stroll to the officer’s quarters, an impressive brick structure.
    A general staff aide answered the front door to the mansion and showed the group inside. Within moments, the commanding general and his wife entered the foyer and the officer introduced them to the Warrens. The general impressed Lorraine as being a kind, compassionate man of great wisdom and intelligence.
    The general’s wife directed everyone into a sitting room that was beautifully furnished with period antiques by previous generals over the course of two centuries.
    “Nothing macabre has happened here,” the general said, sitting in what appeared to be his favorite chair. “Nevertheless, a number of incidents have gone on in this house that, so far, no one has been able to explain to my satisfaction. Some background: in the basement there is a private study; that room is kept locked and secure. But no matter how many times the bunk in there is made up, it’s always found ripped apart later. Upstairs, ghosts have been seen flitting about the house. These I haven’t seen, but they’ve been reported for years, and apparently they go with the billet. Now, I wouldn’t mention any of this except that we have an unusual, persistent problem: personal belongings and other important articles are regularly found missing. Not stolen. ” he emphasized, “but missing temporarily.”
    The general stopped for a moment to put on his glasses. “I grant you, none of this is terribly important unless put into perspective. One of the responsibilities of the commanding officer here is social protocol. In this house, we receive our fair share of government leaders and Army brass. Recently, on special occasions, some potentially serious events have occurred. Wallets have been stolen, pockets have been picked, money and personal mementos have been taken from eminent dignitaries and their wives. Later, all the stolen items are found upstairs, neatly laid out on the dresser in our master bedroom.” The Warrens sat mum, taking in the unique nature of the problem.
    “This foolishness cannot continue ,” the general said forcefully. “Yet we know that no person has committed these actions. So my question to you (Mr. Warren, Mrs. Warren) is the following: if this is a ghost—and I stress, if it is—then you tell me: can a ghost manipulate physical objects?”
    “Yes,” Ed answered, “it can. Providing