VI

The next sitting was an almost exact duplication of the last so far as

the binding (and nailing) of the psychic was concerned, except that we

sewed _two_ bands of tape to her sleeves and _four_ tacks were used at

each wrist. Her feet were tied separately in the middle of a long tape,

and the ends brought together, carried back beneath her chair, and

tacked to the floor. As before, we placed the large end of the cone on

the floor, out of her reach, leaving the smaller end on the table, which

we left just out of her utmost reach. On the table we placed some sheets

of paper specially marked and dated, and took our seats as usual.

No one was present at this sitting but Mr. and Mrs. Fowler and myself.

Even the faithful Brierly had been unable to share in this, the

twenty-ninth experiment. I was delighted to have the circle narrow down,

for Fowler was a good investigator and a man of vast experience in

psychic matters. Outside interference was absolutely excluded. "Whatever

happens to-night, Fowler," I said, "you and I or the spirits must be

responsible for it."

We began, as usual, by putting Mrs. Smiley into hypnotic sleep. In a

few moments the familiar shuddering action took place. Her palms grew

moist. She said she found it difficult to submit to our touch. She asked

us to put our fingers above hers, and soon after, in the midst of our

singing, her voice ceased, her hands grew heavy as lead, and lay

perfectly limp and dead in their bonds.

Again following the guidance of the raps, Fowler and I moved back and

sat opposite her, with Mrs. Fowler between us. "Maudie" then spoke from

the psychic's lips, asking us to move the table farther away. This I

did, leaving it at least twelve inches from the utmost tips of her

fingers. "Maudie" then asked us to take up the larger half of the cone

and unite it with the smaller part, and lay the entire cone flat across

the table.

We did so, marking its position by means of chalk. It was nearly three

feet from the utmost extension of the psychic's hands, and yet, almost

immediately, tapping came upon the cone keeping time to our singing.

Later, sounds were produced like the beating of a kettle-drum. A

hammering was then carried on as if within the cone, and "Maudie" spoke,

telling us to go down and get supper, as before.

I regretted this necessity very much, for up to this moment all had been

clear sailing; the tapping on the cone was inexplicable on the basis of

any normal action of the psychic; but to leave her alone, even while so

well accounted for, weakened the test.

I said as much to Fowler as we sat at the dinner-table. He admitted his

own disappointment. "However," he added, philosophically, "we have to

take these things as they offer. We can't construct them."

We discussed the implications of the sittings we had already held. "It

isn't one thing only," he reminded me; "it is because of the larger fact

that one phenomenon supports another that one comes to believe. Thus far

to-night we have _proved_ that Mrs. Smiley is not concerned with the

drumming on the cone, haven't we?"

"Yes; but I want to hold her hands while the drumming takes place. I

want to hear her voice at the same time with 'Mitchell's.'"

"We'll get it," he responded, confidently. And a little later we

returned to the room where our psychic was sitting, still in deep

trance.

After some moments of waiting, "Maudie" said: "Mr. Mitchell says take

the table away and put the cone in its place."

We moved the table a short distance to the left, and I put the cone in

the centre of the rug where the table had stood, and marked the position

of the cone. The psychic then passed through a period of suffering, of

effort, but nothing took place. Again "Maudie" spoke, asking us to

restore the table and cone to their former positions. "Evidently the

experiment designed by 'Mitchell' has failed," I said, "but these

failures instruct us."

A convulsive restlessness again seized upon the psychic, and "Maudie"

asked us to sing. I hummed softly, in order to hear anything that might

take place. A minute clicking sound at once developed, as though some

one were lightly beating the cone with a key. These clicks answered our

questions. It was "Wilbur" once more. I asked him if he were going to be

able to speak to us, and he tapped "_Yes_." Soon after this the cone was

swung into the air and "Wilbur's" throaty whisper was heard. I asked him

if the psychic could not be awake and speak while he was present, and he

answered: "_Yes; we have planned that._"

Even as he spoke Mrs. Smiley passed into what seemed like a struggle for

breath and awoke!

"Are you with us, Mrs. Smiley?" asked Fowler.

"Yes. What time is it?"

"About half-past eight. How do you feel?"

"Very numb and cold," she answered, plaintively.

"I don't wonder at that," I remarked. "You've been sitting there for

five hours."

"Is anybody present?" she asked, anxiously.

I knew what she meant, and answered: "Yes, 'Wilbur' is here--or was a

few moments ago. Are you still with us, 'Wilbur'?"

A rapping on the cone made vigorous answer, and a few seconds later the

cone took flight and "Wilbur's" voice resumed general conversation with

us. It was noticeable to me all through this sitting, as at others, that

neither "Wilbur" nor "Mitchell" nor "Maud" ever addressed the psychic;

_they spoke of her, but never to her_.

I requested further tests. "'Wilbur,' I want the privilege of going to

the psychic's side. I don't like this long-distance experiment. I want

to get closer to these facts--if they are facts."

"_You shall have the privilege_," was the reassuring answer.

"Shall I go now?"

There was no reply through the horn, but a tapping on the table gave a

doubtful "_Yes_," and I crept slowly forward and took a seat at Mrs.

Smiley's right hand. "I am very close to the ultimate mystery, Mrs.

Smiley," I said, as I placed my hand upon her wrist. "Proceed, 'Wilbur.'

Let me hear your voice now."

With tense expectation, I put my ear close to the psychic's lips and

listened breathlessly. The horn soared into the air and was drummed

there, as if to show that it was out of the reach of the psychic, but no

voice came from it! This was a disappointment to me, as well as to

Fowler, and I banteringly said: "You know this failure is suspicious,

Wilbur.' It seems to indicate that Mrs. Smiley is only a wonderful

ventriloquist, after all. Can't you prove that she is independent of

your voice? Can't you do something decisive at this moment?"

No reply came to this; but while my hand was firmly pressed upon her

wrist (both sleeves being nailed to the chair), the loose leaves of the

paper in the centre of the table were whisked away to the left. I could

follow their flight, and we all heard their deposition on a couch in a

corner of the room.

"Fowler," I said, "are you controlling your wife's hands?"

"Yes; we had nothing to do with that noise."

This was another tense moment, for the movement of those papers was very

ghostly indeed. We had demonstrated clearly that their movement was

supernormal.

"May I come forward?" asked Fowler.

Tap--"_No_," was the decided answer.

I then asked: "'Wilbur,' do you want me to change with Fowler and

control Mrs. Fowler's hands?"

An emphatic "_Yes_" was rapped in reply.

"They seem as anxious for a conclusive test as we are," remarked Fowler.

"Did you mean you didn't want Mrs. Fowler unaccounted for?"