The medium was seated on one side of the little tent, his wife on the other. The light was out, and a small red lamp near the ceiling was just sufficient to enable outlines to be clearly seen. As the eyes became accustomed to it some detail could also be observed.
“Mr. Linden will begin by some clairvoyant readings
,” said Mrs. Linden. Her whole attitude, seated beside the cabinet with her hands on her lap and the air of a proprietor, made Enid smile, for she thought of Mrs. Jarley and her waxworks.
Linden, who was not in a trance, began to give clairvoyance. It was not very good. Possibly the mixed influence of so many sitters of various types at close quarters was too disturbing. That was the excuse which he gave himself when several of his descriptions were unrecognized. But Malone was more shocked by those which were recognized, since it was so clear that the word was put into the medium’s mouth. It was the folly of the sitter rather than the fault of the medium, but it was disconcerting all the same.
“I see a young man with brown eyes and a rather drooping moustache.”
“Oh, darling, darling, have you then come back!” cried Miss Badley. “Oh, has he a message?”
“He sends his love and does not forget.”
“Oh, how evidential! It is so exactly what the dear boy would have said! My first lover, you know,” she added, in a simpering voice to the company. “He never fails to come. Mr. Linden has brought him again and again.”
“There is a young fellow in khaki building upon the left. I see a symbol over his head. It might be a Greek cross.”
“Jim—it is surely Jim!” cried Lady Smith.
“Yes. He nods his head.”
“And the Greek cross is probably a propeller,” said Sir James. “He was in the Air Service, you know.”
Malone and Enid were both rather shocked. Mailey was also uneasy.
“This is not good,” he whispered to Enid. “Wait a bit! You will get something better.”
There were several good recognitions, and then someone resembling Summerlee was described for Malone. This was wisely discounted by him, since Linden might have been in the audience on the former occasion. Mrs. Debbs’ exhibition seemed to him far more convincing than that of Linden.
“Wait a bit!” Mailey repeated.
“The medium will now try for materializations,” said Mrs. Linden. “If the figures appear I would ask you not to touch them, save by request. Victor will tell you if you may do so. Victor is the medium’s control.”
The medium had settled down in his chair and he now began to draw long, whistling breaths with deep intakes, puffing the air out between his lips. Finally he steadied down and seemed to sink into a deep coma, his chin upon his breast. Suddenly he spoke, but it seemed that his voice was better modulated and more cultivated than before.
“Good evening, all!” said the voice.
There was a general murmur of “Good evening, Victor.”
“I am afraid that the vibrations are not very harmonious. The sceptical element is present, but not, I think, predominant, so that we may hope for results. Martin Lightfoot is doing what he can.”
“That is the Indian control,” Mailey whispered.
“I think that if you would start the gramophone it would be helpful. A hymn is always best, though there is no real objection to secular music. Give us what you think best, Mrs. Ogilvy.”
There was the rasping of a needle which had not yet found its grooves. Then “Lead, Kindly Light” was churned out. The audience joined in in a subdued fashion. Mrs. Ogilvy then changed it to “O, God, our help in ages past.”
“They often change the records themselves,” said Mrs. Ogilvy, “but to-night there is not enough power.”
“Oh, yes,” said the voice. “There is enough power, Mrs. Ogilvy, but we are anxious to conserve it all for the materializations. Martin says they are building up very well.”
At this moment the curtain in front of the cabinet began to sway. It bellied out as if a strong wind were behind it. At the same time a breeze was felt by all who were in the circle, together with a sensation of cold.
“It is quite chilly,” whispered Enid, with a shiver.
“It is not a subjective feeling,” Mailey answered. “Mr. Harry Price has tested it with thermometric readings. So did Professor Crawford.”
“My God!” cried a startled voice. It belonged to the pompous dabbler in mysteries, who was suddenly faced with a real mystery. The curtains of the cabinet had parted and a human figure had stolen noiselessly out. There was the medium clearly outlined on one side. There was Mrs. Linden, who had sprung to her feet, on the other. And, between them, the little black, hesitating figure, which seemed to be terrified at its own position. Mrs. Linden soothed and encouraged it.