“We’ve got to pull ourselves together,” thought Georgie, “and start again. We must get going and learn to do without her, as she’s getting on so nicely without us. I shall go and see how the planchette is progressing.” Daisy was already at it, and the pencil was getting up steam. A day or two ago it had written not once only but many times a strange sort of hieroglyphic, which might easily be interpreted to be the mystic word Abfou. Daisy had therefore settled (what could be more obvious?) that the name of the control who guided these strange gyrations was Abfou, which sounded very Egyptian and antique. Therefore, she powerfully reasoned, the scribbles which could not be made to fit any known configuration of English letters might easily be Arabic. Why Abfou should write his name in English characters and his communications in Arabic was not Daisy’s concern, for who knew what were the conditions on the other side? A sheet was finished just as Georgie came in, and though it presented nothing but Arabic script, the movements of the planchette had been so swift and eager that Daisy quite forgot to ask if there was any news. “Abfou is getting in more direct touch with me every time I sit,” said Daisy. “I feel sure we shall have something of great importance before long. Put your hand on the planchette too, Georgie, for I have always believed that you have mediumistic powers. Concentrate first: that means you must put everything else out of your head. Let us sit for a minute or two with our eyes shut. Breathe deeply. Relax. Sometimes slight hypnosis comes on, so the book says, which means you get very drowsy.” There was silence for a few moments: Georgie wanted to tell Daisy about Lucia’s letter, but that would certainly interrupt Abfou, so he drew up a chair, and after laying his hand on Daisy’s, closed his eyes and breathed deeply. And then suddenly the most extraordinary things began to happen. The planchette trembled: it vibrated like a kettle on the boil, and began to skate about the paper. He had no idea what its antic motions meant: he only knew that it was writing something, Arabic perhaps, but something firm and decided. It seemed to him that so far from aiding its movement, he almost, to be on the safe side, checked it. He opened his eyes, for it was impossible not to want to watch this manifestation of psychic force, and also he wished to be sure (though he had no real suspicions on the subject) that his collaborator was not, to put it coarsely, pushing. Exactly the same train of thought was passing in Daisy’s mind, and she opened her eyes too. “Georgie, my hand is positively being dragged about,” she said excitedly. “If anything, I try to resist.” “Mine too; so do I,” said Georgie. “It’s too wonderful. Do you suppose it’s Arabic still?” The pencil gave a great dash, and stopped. “It is Arabic,” said Daisy as she examined the message, “at least, there’s heaps of English too.”