Mr. Vincent was beginning to think about going to bed. He had come in
an hour before, had written half a dozen letters, and was smoking
peacefully before the fire.
His rooms were not remarkable in any way, except for half a dozen
objects standing on the second shelf of his bookcase, and the
selection of literature ranged below them. For the rest, all was
commonplace enough; a mahogany knee-hold table, a couple of easy
chairs, much worn, and a long, extremely comfortable sofa standing by
itself against the wall with evident signs, in its tumbled cushions
and rubbed fabric, of continual and frequent use. A second door gave
entrance to his bedroom.
He beat out his pipe slowly, yawned, and stood up.
It was at this instant that he heard the sudden tinkle of the electric
bell in the lobby outside, and, wondering at the interruption at this
hour, went quickly out and opened the door on to the stairs.
"Mr. Baxter! Come in, come in; I'm delighted to see you."
Laurie came in without a word, went straight up to the fire-place, and
faced about.
"I'm not going to apologize," he said, "for coming at this time. You
told me to come and see you at any time, and I've taken you at your
word."
The young man had an odd embarrassed manner, thought the other; an air
of having come in spite of uneasiness; he was almost shamefaced.
The medium impelled him gently into a chair.
"First a cigarette," he said; "next a little whisky, and then I shall
be delighted to listen.... No; please do as I say."
Laurie permitted himself to be managed; there was a strong, almost
paternal air in the other's manner that was difficult to resist. He
lit his cigarette, he sipped his whisky; but his movements were
nervously quick.
"Well, then...." and he interrupted himself. "What are those things,
Mr. Vincent?" He nodded towards the second shelf in the bookcase.
Mr. Vincent turned on the hearthrug.
"Those? Oh! those are a few rather elementary instruments for my
work."
He lifted down a crystal ball on a small black polished wooden stand
and handed it over.
"You have heard of crystal-gazing? Well, that is the article."
"Is that crystal?"
"Oh no: common glass. Price three shillings and sixpence."
Laurie turned it over, letting the shining globe run on to his hand.
"And this is--" he began.
"And this," said the medium, setting a curious windmill-shaped affair,
its sails lined with looking-glass, on the little table by the fire,
"this is a French toy. Very elementary."
"What's that?"
"Look."
Mr. Vincent wound a small handle at the back of the windmill to a
sound of clockwork, set it down again, and released it. Instantly the
sails began to revolve, noiseless and swift, producing the effect of a
rapidly flashing circle of light across which span lines, waxing and
waning with extraordinary speed.
"What the--"
"It's a little machine for inducing sleep. Oh! I haven't used that for
months. But it's useful sometimes. The hypnotic subject just stares at
that steadily.... Why, you're looking dazed yourself, already,
Mr. Baxter," smiled the medium.
He stopped the mechanism and pushed it on one side.
"And what's the other?" asked Laurie, looking again at the shelf.
"Ah!"
The medium, with quite a different air, took down and set before him
an object resembling a tiny heart-shaped table on three wheeled legs,
perhaps four or five inches across. Through the center ran a pencil
perpendicularly of which the point just touched the tablecloth on
which the thing rested. Laurie looked at it, and glanced up.
"Yes, that's Planchette," said the medium.
"For ... for automatic writing?"
The other nodded.
"Yes," he said. "The experimenter puts his fingers lightly upon that,
and there's a sheet of paper beneath. That is all."
Laurie looked at him, half curiously. Then with a sudden movement he
stood up.
"Yes," he said. "Thank you. But--"
"Please sit down, Mr. Baxter.... I know you haven't come about that
kind of thing. Will you kindly tell me what you have come about?"
He, too, sat down, and, without looking at the other, began slowly to
fill his pipe again, with his strong capable fingers. Laurie stared at
the process, unseeing.
"Just tell me simply," said the medium again, still without looking at
him.
Laurie threw himself back.
"Well, I will," he said. "I know it's absurdly childish; but I'm a
little frightened. It's about a dream."
"That's not necessarily childish."
"It's a dream I had tonight--in my chair after dinner."
"Well?"
* * * * *
Then Laurie began.
For about ten minutes he talked without ceasing. Mr. Vincent smoked
tranquilly, putting what seemed to Laurie quite unimportant questions
now and again, and nodding gently from time to time.
"And I'm frightened," ended Laurie; "and I want you to tell me what it
all means."
The other drew a long inhalation through his pipe, expelled it, and
leaned back.
"Oh, it's comparatively common," he said; "common, that is, with
people of your temperament, Mr. Baxter--and mine.... You tell me that
it was prayer that enabled you to get through at the end? That is
interesting."
"But--but--was it more than fancy--more, I mean, than an ordinary
dream?"
"Oh, yes; it was objective. It was a real experience."
"You mean--"
"Mr. Baxter, just listen to me for a minute or two. You can ask any
questions you like at the end. First, you are a Catholic, you told me;
you believe, that is to say, among other things, that the spiritual
world is a real thing, always present more or less. Well, of course, I
agree with you; though I do not agree with you altogether as to the
geography and--and other details of that world. But you believe, I
take it, that this world is continually with us--that this room, so to
speak, is a great deal more than that of which our senses tell us that
there are with us, now and always, a multitude of influences, good,
bad, and indifferent, really present to our spirits?"
"I suppose so," said Laurie.
"Now begin again. There are two kinds of dreams. I am just stating my
own belief, Mr. Baxter. You can make what comments you like
afterwards. The one kind of dream is entirely unimportant; it is
merely a hash, a _réchauffée_, of our own thoughts, in which little
things that we have experienced reappear in a hopeless sort of
confusion. It is the kind of dream that we forget altogether,
generally, five minutes after waking, if not before. But there is
another kind of dream that we do not forget. It leaves as vivid an
impression upon us as if it were a waking experience--an actual
incident. And that is exactly what it is."
"I don't understand."
"Have you ever heard of the subliminal consciousness, Mr. Baxter?"
"No."
The medium smiled.
"That is fortunate," he said. "It's being run to death just
now.... Well, I'll put it in an untechnical way. There is a part of
us, is there not, that lies below our ordinary waking thoughts--that
part of us in which our dreams reside, our habits take shape, our
instincts, intuitions, and all the rest, are generated. Well, in
ordinary dreams, when we are asleep, it is this part that is active.
The pot boils, so to speak, all by itself, uncontrolled by reason. A
madman is a man in whom this part is supreme in his waking life as
well. Well, it is through this part of us that we communicate with the
spiritual world. There are, let us say, two doors in it--that which
leads up to our senses, through which come down our waking experiences
to be stored up; and--and the other door...."
"Yes?"
The medium hesitated.
"Well," he said, "in some natures--yours, for instance, Mr.
Baxter--this door opens rather easily. It was through that door that
you went, I think, in what you call your 'dream.' You yourself said it
was quite unlike ordinary dreams."
"Yes."
"And I am the more sure that this is so, since your experience is
exactly that of so many others under the same circumstances."
Laurie moved uncomfortably in his chair.
"I don't quite understand," he said sharply. "You mean it was not a
dream?"
"Certainly not. At least, not a dream in the ordinary sense. It was an
actual experience."
"But--but I was asleep."
"Certainly. That is one of the usual conditions--an almost
indispensable condition, in fact. The objective self--I mean the
ordinary workaday faculties--was lulled; and your subjective
self--call it what you like--but it is your real self, the essential
self that survives death--this self, simply went through the inner
door, and--and saw what was to be seen."
Laurie looked at him intently. But there was a touch of apprehension
in his face, too.
"You mean," he said slowly, "that--that all I saw--the limitations of
space, and so forth--that these were facts and not fancies?"
"Certainly. Doesn't your theology hint at something of the kind?"
Laurie was silent. He had no idea of what his theology told him on the
point.
"But why should I--I of all people--have such an experience?" he asked
suddenly.
The medium smiled.
"Who can tell that?" he said. "Why should one man be an artist, and
another not? It is a matter of temperament. You see you've begun to
develop that temperament at last; and it's a very marked one to begin
with. As for--"
Laurie interrupted him.
"Yes, yes," he said. "But there's another point. What about that fear
I had when I tried to--to awaken?"
There passed over the medium's face a shade of gravity. It was no more
than a shade, but it was there. He reached out rather quickly for his
pipe which he had laid aside, and blew through it carefully before
answering.
"That?" he said, with what seemed to the boy an affected carelessness.
"That? Oh, that's a common experience. Don't think about that too
much, Mr. Baxter. It's never very healthy--"
"I am sorry," said Laurie deliberately. "But I must ask you to tell me
what you think. I must know what I'm doing."
The medium filled his pipe again. Twice he began to speak, and checked
himself; and in the long silence Laurie felt his fears gather upon him
tenfold.
"Please tell me at once, Mr. Vincent," he said. "Unless I know
everything that is to be known, I will not go another step along this
road. I really mean that."
The medium paused in his pipe-filling.
"And what if I do tell you?" he said in his slow virile voice. "Are
you sure you will not be turned back?"
"If it is a well-known danger, and can be avoided with prudence, I
certainly shall not turn back."
"Very well, Mr. Baxter, I will take you at your word.... Have you ever
heard the phrase, 'The Watcher on the Threshold'?"
Laurie shook his head.
"No," he said. "At least I don't think so."
"Well," said the medium quietly, "that is what we call the Fear you
spoke of.... No; don't interrupt. I'll tell you all we know. It's not
very much."
He paused again, stretched his hand for the matches, and took one
out. Laurie watched him as if fascinated by the action.
Outside roared Oxford Street in one long rolling sound as of the sea;
but within here was that quiet retired silence which the boy had
noticed before in the same company. Was that fancy, too, he
wondered...?
The medium lit his pipe and leaned back.
"I'll tell you all we know," he said again quietly. "It's not very
much. Really the phrase I used just now sums it up pretty well. We
who have tried to get beyond this world of sense have become aware of
certain facts of which the world generally knows nothing at all. One
of these facts is that the door between this life and the other is
guarded by a certain being of whom we know really nothing at all,
except that his presence causes the most appalling fear in those who
experience it. He is set there--God only knows why--and his main
business seems to be to restrain, if possible, from re-entering the
body those who have left it. Just occasionally his presence is
perceived by those on this side, but not often. But I have been
present at death-beds where he has been seen--"
"Seen?"
"Oh! yes. Seen by the dying person. It is usually only a glimpse; it
might be said to be a mistake. For myself I believe that that
appalling terror that now and then shows itself, even in people who do
not fear death itself, who are perfectly resigned, who have nothing on
their conscience,--well, personally, I believe the fear comes from a
sight of this--this Personage."
Laurie licked his dry lips. He told himself that he did not believe
one word of it.
"And ... and he is evil?" he asked.
The other shrugged his shoulders.
"Isn't that a relative term?" he said. "From one point of view,
certainly; but not necessarily from all."
"And ... and what's the good of it?"
The medium smiled a little.
"That's a question we soon cease to ask. You must remember that we
hardly know anything at all yet. But one thing seems more and more
certain the more we investigate, and that is that our point of view is
not the only one, nor even the principal one. Christianity, I fancy,
says the same thing, does it not? The 'glory of God,' whatever that
may be, comes before even the 'salvation of souls.'"
Laurie wrenched his attention once more to a focus.
"Then I was in danger?" he said.
"Certainly. We are always in danger--"
"You mean, if I hadn't prayed--"
"Ah! that is another question.... But, in short, if you hadn't
succeeded in getting past--well, you'd have failed."
Again there fell a silence.
It seemed to Laurie as if his world were falling about him. Yet he was
far from sure whether it were not all an illusion. But the extreme
quietness and confidence of this man in enunciating these startling
theories had their effect. It was practically impossible for the boy
to sit here, still nervous from his experience, and hear, unmoved,
this apparently reasonable and connected account of things that were
certainly incomprehensible on any other hypothesis. His remembrance of
the very startling uniqueness of his dream was still vivid.... Surely
it all fitted in ... yet....
"But there is one thing," broke in the medium's quiet voice. "Should
you ever experience this kind of thing again, I should recommend you
not to pray. Just exercise your own individuality; assert yourself;
don't lean on another. You are quite strong enough."
"You mean--"
"I mean exactly what I say. What is called Prayer is really an
imaginative concession to weakness. Take the short cut, rather. Assert
your own--your own individuality."
Laurie changed his attitude. He uncrossed his feet and sat up a
little.
"Oh! pray if you want to," said the medium. "But you must remember,
Mr. Baxter, that you are quite an exceptional person. I assure you
that you have no conception of your own powers. I must say that I hope
you will take the strong line." He paused. "These _séances_, for
instance. Now that you know a little more of the dangers, are you
going to turn back?"
His overhung kindly eyes looked out keenly for an instant at the boy's
restless face.
"I don't know," said Laurie; "I must think...."
He got up.
"Look here, Mr. Vincent," he said, "it seems to me you're
extraordinarily--er--extraordinarily plausible. But I'm even now not
quite sure whether I'm not going mad. It's like a perfectly mad
dream--all these things one on the top of the other."
He paused, looking sharply at the elder man, and away again.
"Yes?"
Laurie began to finger a pencil that lay on the chimney-shelf.
"You see what I mean, don't you?" he said. "I'm not
disputing--er--your point of view, nor your sincerity. But I do wish
you would give me another proof or two."
"You haven't had enough?"
"Oh! I suppose I have--if I were reasonable. But, you know, it all
seems to me as if you suddenly demonstrated to me that twice two made
five."
"But then, surely no proof--"
"Yes; I know. I quite see that. Yet I want one--something quite
absolutely ordinary. If you can do all these things--spirits and all
the rest--can't you do something ever so much simpler, that's beyond
mistake?"
"Oh, I daresay. But wouldn't you ask yet another after that?"
"I don't know."
"Or wouldn't you think you'd been hypnotized?"
Laurie shook his head.
"I'm not a fool," he said.
"Then give me that pencil," said the medium, suddenly extending his
hand.
Laurie stared a moment. Then he handed over the pencil.
On the little table by the arm-chair, a couple of feet from Laurie,
stood the whisky apparatus and a box of cigarettes. These the medium,
without moving from his chair, lifted off and set on the floor beside
him, leaving the woven-grass surface of the table entirely bare. He
then laid the pencil gently in the center--all without a word. Laurie
watched him carefully.
"Now kindly do not speak one word or make one movement," said the man
peremptorily. "Wait! You're perfectly sure you're not hypnotized, or
any other nonsense?"
"Certainly not."
"Just go round the room, look out of the window, poke the
fire--anything you like."
"I'm satisfied," said the boy.
"Very good. Then kindly watch that pencil."
The medium leaned a little forward in his chair, bending his eyes
steadily upon the little wooden cylinder lying, like any other pencil,
on the top of the table. Laurie glanced once at him, then back
again. There it lay, common and ordinary.
For at least a minute nothing happened at all, except that from the
intentness of the elder man there seemed once more to radiate out that
curious air of silence that Laurie was beginning to know so well--that
silence that seemed impenetrable to the common sounds of the world and
to exist altogether independent of them. Once and again he glanced
round at the ordinary-looking room, the curtained windows, the dull
furniture; and the second time he looked back at the pencil he was
almost certain that some movement had just taken place with it. He
resolutely fixed his eyes upon it, bending every faculty he possessed
into one tense attitude of attention. And a moment later he could not
resist a sudden movement and a swift indrawing of breath; for there,
before his very eyes, the pencil tilted, very hesitatingly and
quiveringly, as if pulled by a spider's thread. He heard, too, the
tiny tap of its fall.
He glanced at the medium, who jerked his head impatiently, as if for
silence. Then once more the silence came down.
A minute later there was no longer the possibility of a doubt.
There before the boy's eyes, as he stared, white-faced, with parted
lips, the pencil rose, hesitated, quivered; but, instead of falling
back again, hung so for a moment on its point, forming with itself an
acute angle with the plane of the table in an entirely impossible
position; then, once more rising higher, swung on its point in a
quarter circle, and after one more pause and quiver, rose to its full
height, remained poised one instant, then fell with a sudden movement,
rolled across the table and dropped on the carpet.
The medium leaned back, drawing a long breath.
"There," he said; and smiled at the bewildered young man.
"But--but--" began the other.
"Yes, I know," said the man. "It's startling, isn't it? and indeed
it's not as easy as it looks. I wasn't at all sure--"
"But, good Lord, I saw--"
"Of course you did; but how do you know you weren't hypnotized?"
Laurie sat down suddenly, unconscious that he had done so. The medium
put out his hand for his pipe once more.
"Now, I'm going to be quite honest," he said. "I have quite a quantity
of comments to make on that. First, it doesn't prove anything
whatever, even if it really happened--"
"Even if it--!"
"Certainly.... Oh, yes; I saw it too; and there's the pencil on the
floor"--he stooped and picked it up.
"But what if we were both hypnotized--both acted upon by
self-suggestion? We can't prove we weren't."
Laurie was dumb.
"Secondly, it doesn't prove anything, in any case, as regards the
other matters we were speaking of. It only shows--if it really
happened, as I say--that the mind has extraordinary control over
matter. It hasn't anything to do with immortality, or--or
spiritualism."
"Then why did you do it?" gasped the boy.
"Merely fireworks ... only to show off. People are convinced by such
queer things."
Laurie sat regarding, still with an unusual pallor in his face and
brightness in his eyes. He could not in the last degree put into words
why it was that the tiny incident of the pencil affected him so
profoundly. Vaguely, only, he perceived that it was all connected
somehow with the ordinariness of the accessories, and more impressive
therefore than all the paraphernalia of planchette, spinning mirrors,
or even his own dreams.
He stood up again suddenly.
"It's no good, Mr. Vincent," he said, putting out his hand, "I'm
knocked over. I can't imagine why. It's no use talking now. I must
think. Good night."
"Good night, Mr. Baxter," said the medium serenely.
_Chapter VIII_
I
"Her ladyship told me to show you in here, sir," said the footman at
half-past eight on Sunday evening.
Laurie put down his hat, slipped off his coat, and went into the
dining room.
The table was still littered with dessert-plates and napkins. Two
people had dined there he observed. He went round to the fire,
wondering vaguely as to why he had not been shown upstairs, and stood,
warming his hands behind him, and looking at the pleasant gloom of the
high picture-hung walls.
In spite of himself he felt slightly more excited than he had thought
he would be; it was one thing to be philosophical at a prospect of
three days' distance; and another when the gates of death actually
rise in sight. He wondered in what mood he would see his own rooms
again. Then he yawned slightly--and was a little pleased that it was
natural to yawn.
There was a rustle outside; the door opened, and Lady Laura slipped
in.
"Forgive me, Mr. Baxter," she said. "I wanted to have just a word with
you first. Please sit down a moment."
She seemed a little anxious and upset, thought Laurie, as he sat down
and looked at her in her evening dress with the emblematic chain more
apparent than ever. Her frizzed hair sat as usual on the top of her
head, and her pince-nez glimmered at him across the hearthrug like the
eyes of a cat.
"It is this," she said hurriedly. "I felt I must just speak to you. I
wasn't sure whether you quite realized the ... the dangers of all
this. I didn't want you to ... to run any risks in my house. I should
feel responsible, you know."
She laughed nervously.
"Risks? Would you mind explaining?" said Laurie.
"There ... there are always risks, you know."
"What sort?"
"Oh ... you know ... nerves, and so on. I ... I have seen people very
much upset at _séances_, more than once."
Laurie smiled.
"I don't think you need be afraid, Lady Laura. It's awfully kind of
you; but, do you know, I'm ashamed to say that, if anything, I'm
rather bored."
The pince-nez gleamed.
"But--but don't you believe it? I thought Mr. Vincent said--"
"Oh yes, I believe it; but, you know, it seems to me so natural now.
Even if nothing happens tonight, I don't think I shall believe it any
the less."
She was silent an instant.
"You know there are other risks," she said suddenly.
"What? Are things thrown about?"
"Please don't laugh at it, Mr. Baxter. I am quite serious."
"Well--what kind do you mean?"
Again she paused.
"It's very awful," she said; "but, you know, people's nerves do break
down entirely sometimes, even though they're not in the least
afraid. I saw a case once--"
She stopped.
"Yes?"
"It--it was a very awful case. A girl--a sensitive--broke down
altogether under the strain. She's in an asylum."
"I don't think that's likely for me," said Laurie, with a touch of
humor in his voice. "And, after all, you run these risks, don't
you--and Mrs. Stapleton?"
"Yes; but you see we're not sensitives. And even I--"
"Yes?"
"Well, even I feel sometimes rather overcome.... Mr. Baxter, do you
quite realize what it all means?"
"I think so. To tell the truth--"
He stopped.
"Yes; but the thing itself is really overwhelming.... There's--there's
an extraordinary power sometimes. You know I was with Maud Stapleton
when she saw her father--"
She stopped again.
"Yes?"
"I saw him too, you know.... Oh! there was no possibility of fraud.
It was with Mr. Vincent. It--it was rather terrible."
"Yes?"
"Maud fainted.... Please don't tell her I told you, Mr. Baxter; she
wouldn't like you to know that. And then other things happen sometimes
which aren't nice. Do you think me a great coward? I--I think I've got
a fit of nerves tonight."
Laurie could see that she was trembling.
"I think you're very kind," he said, "to take the trouble to tell me
all this. But indeed I was quite ready to be startled. I quite
understand what you mean--but--"
"Mr. Baxter, you can't understand unless you've experienced it. And,
you know, the other day here you knew nothing at all: you were not
conscious. Now tonight you're to keep awake; Mr. Vincent's going to
arrange to do what he can about that. And--and I don't quite like it."
"Why, what on earth can happen?" asked Laurie, bewildered.
"Mr. Baxter, I suppose you realize that it's you that they--whoever
they are--are interested in? There's no kind of doubt that you'll be
the center tonight. And I did just want you to understand fully that
there are risks. I shouldn't like to think--"
Laurie stood up.
"I understand perfectly," he said. "Certainly, I always knew there
were risks. I hold myself responsible, and no one else. Is that quite
clear?"
The wire of the front-door bell suddenly twitched in the hall, and a
peal came up the stairs.
"He's come," said the other. "Come upstairs, Mr. Baxter. Please don't
say a word of what I've said."
She hurried out, and he after her, as the footman came up from the
lower regions.
* * * * *
The drawing-room presented an unusual appearance to Laurie as he came
in. All the small furniture had been moved away to the side where the
windows looked into the street, and formed there what looked like an
amateur barricade. In the center of the room, immediately below the
electric light, stood a solid small round table with four chairs set
round it as if for Bridge. There was on the side further from the
street a kind of ante-room communicating with the main room by a high,
wide archway nearly as large as the room to which it gave access; and
within this, full in sight, stood a curious erection, not unlike a
confessional, seated within for one, roofed, walled, and floored with
thin wood. The front of this was open, but screened partly by two
curtains that seemed to hang from a rod within. The rest of the little
extra room was entirely empty except for the piano that stood closed
in the corner.
There were two persons standing rather disconsolately on the vacant
hearthrug--Mrs. Stapleton and the clergyman whom Laurie had met on his
last visit here. Mr. Jamieson wore an expression usually associated
with funerals, and Mrs. Stapleton's face was full of suppressed
excitement.
"Dearest, what a time you've been! Was that Mr. Vincent?"
"I think so," said Lady Laura.
The two men nodded to one another, and an instant later the medium
came in.
He was in evening clothes; and, more than ever, Laurie thought how
average and conventional he looked. His manner was not in the least
pontifical, and he shook hands cordially and naturally, but gave one
quick glance of approval at Laurie.
"It struck me as extraordinarily cold," he said. "I see you have an
excellent fire." And he stooped, rubbing his hands together to warm
them.
"We must screen that presently," he said.
Then he stood up again.
"There's no use in wasting time. May I say a word first, Lady Laura?"
She nodded, looking at him almost apprehensively.
"First, I must ask you gentlemen to give me your word on a certain
point. I have not an idea how things will go, or whether we shall get
any results; but we are going to attempt materialization. Probably, in
any case, this will not go very far; we may not be able to do more
than to see some figure or face. But in any case, I want you two
gentlemen to give me your word that you will attempt no violence.
Anything in the nature of seizing the figure may have very disastrous
results indeed to myself. You understand that what you will see, if
you see anything, will not be actual flesh or blood; it will be formed
of a certain matter of which we understand very little at present, but
which is at any rate intimately connected with myself or with someone
present. Really we know no more of it than that. We are all of us
inquirers equally. Now will you gentlemen give me your words of honor
that you will obey me in this; and that in all other matters you will
follow the directions of ..." (he glanced at the two ladies)--"of Mrs.
Stapleton, and do nothing without her consent?"
He spoke in a brisk, matter-of-fact way, and looked keenly from face
to face of the two men as he ended.
"I give you my word," said Laurie.
"Yes; just so," said Mr. Jamieson.
"Now there is one matter more," went on the medium. "Mr. Baxter, you
are aware that you are a sensitive of a very high order. Now I do not
wish you to pass into trance tonight. Kindly keep your attention fixed
upon me steadily. Watch me closely: you will be able to see me quite
well enough, as I shall explain presently. Mrs. Stapleton will sit
with her back to the fire. Lady Laura opposite, Mr. Jamieson with his
back to the cabinet, and you, Mr. Baxter, facing it. (Yes,
Mr. Jamieson, you may turn round freely, so long as you keep your
hands upon the table.) Now, if you feel anything resembling sleep or
unconsciousness coming upon you irresistibly, Mr. Baxter, I wish you
just lightly to tap Mrs. Stapleton's hand. She will then, if
necessary, break up the circle. Give the signal directly you feel the
sensation is really coming on, or if you find it very difficult to
keep your attention fixed. You will do this?"
"I will do it," said Laurie.
"Then that is really all."
He moved a step away from the fire. Then he paused.
"By the way, I may as well just tell you our methods. I shall take my
place within the cabinet, drawing the curtains partly across at the
top so as to shade my face. But you will be able to see the whole of
my body, and probably even my face as well. You four will please to
sit at the table in the order I have indicated, with your hands
resting upon it. You will not speak unless you are spoken to, or until
Mrs. Stapleton gives the signal. That is all. You then wait. Now it
may be ten minutes, half an hour, an hour--anything up to two hours
before anything happens. If there is no result, Mrs. Stapleton will
break up the circle at eleven o'clock, and awaken me if necessary."
He broke off.
"Kindly just examine the cabinet and the whole room first, gentlemen.
We mediums must protect ourselves."
He smiled genially and nodded to the two.
Laurie went straight across the open floor to the cabinet. It was
raised on four feet, about twelve inches from the ground. Heavy green
curtains hung from a bar within. Laurie took these, and ran them to
and fro; then he went into the cabinet. It was entirely empty except
for a single board that formed the seat. As he came out he encountered
the awestruck face of the clergyman who had followed him in dead
silence, and now went into the cabinet after him. Laurie passed round
behind: the little room was empty except for the piano at the back,
and two low bookshelves on either side of the fireless hearth. The
window looking presumably into the garden was shuttered from top to
bottom, and barred, and the curtains were drawn back so that it could
be seen. A cat could not have hidden in the place. It was all
perfectly satisfactory.
He came back to where the others were standing silent, and the
clergyman followed him.
"You are satisfied, gentlemen?" said the medium, smiling.
"Perfectly," said Laurie, and the clergyman bowed.
"Well, then," said the other, "it is close upon nine."
He indicated the chairs, and himself went past towards the cabinet,
his heavy step making the room vibrate as he went. As he came near the
door, he fumbled with the button, and all the lights but one went out.
The four sat down. Laurie watched Mr. Vincent step up into the
cabinet, jerk the curtains this way and that, and at last sit easily
back, in such a way that his face could be seen in a kind of twilight,
and the rest of his body perfectly visible.
Then silence came down upon the room.