“Are they what ?”

It seemed such a rummy adjective to apply to the twins, they being about as innocuous as a couple of sprightly young tarantulas.

“Do you think all is well with them?”

“How do you mean?”

Aunt Agatha eyed me almost wistfully.

“Has it ever occurred to you, Bertie,” she said, “that your Uncle George may be psychic?”

She seemed to me to be changing the subject.

“Psychic?”

“Do you think it is possible that he could see things not visible to the normal eye?”