“That’s the way to look at it, madam. I will go into the silence, and I will give you only such information as I get myself.” The man leaned back in his chair, and gradually seemed to enter a hypnotic state. His muscles relaxed, his face became still and set, and his breathing was slow and a little labored. Fibsy retained his vacuous look he even fidgeted a little, in a bored way--and rarely glanced toward the man of “clear sight.” Miss Ames, though anxious for results, was alert and quite on her guard against fraud. Experienced in fake mediums, she believed Willy Hanlon’s assertion that this man was one of the few genuine mystics, but she proposed to judge for herself. At last Marigny spoke. His voice was low, his tones monotonous and uninflected. “Aunt Abby--Aunt Westminster Abbey” the words came slowly. Miss Ames gave a startled jump. Her face blanched and she trembled as she clutched Fibsy’s arm. “That’s what Sanford used to call me!” she whispered. “Can it really be his spirit talking to me through the medium!” “Don’t worry,” the voice went on, “don’t grieve for me--it’s all right--let it go that I took my own life--” “But did you, Sanford--did you?” Miss Ames implored. “It would be better you should never know.” “I must know. I’ve got to know! Tell me, Sanford. It wasn’t Eunice? “No--it wasn’t Eunice.” “Was it--oh, San--was it--I?” “Yes, Aunt Abby--it was. But you were entirely irresponsible--you were asleep--hypnotized, perhaps--perhaps merely asleep.” “Where did I get the stuff?” “I think somebody hypnotized you and gave it to you--” “When? Where?” “I don’t know--it is vague--uncertain--But you put it in my ear--remember, Aunt Abby, I don’t blame you at all. And you must not tell this. You must let it go as suicide. That is the only way to save yourself--” “But they suspect Eunice--” “They’ll never convict her--nor would they convict you. Tell them you got into communication with my spirit and I said it was suicide.” “Ask him about the raspberry jam,” put in Fibsy, in a stage whisper. “What!” the medium came out of his trance suddenly and glared at the boy. “I told you I could do nothing if the child stayed here,” Marigny cried, evidently in a towering passion. “Put him out. Who is he? What is he talking about?” “Nothing of importance. Keep still, McGuire. Can you get Mr. Embury’s spirit back, sir?” “No, the communion is too greatly disturbed. Boy, what do you mean by raspberry jam?” “Oh, nothin’,” and Fibsy wriggled bashfully. “You tell him, Miss Ames.” It needed little encouragement to launch Aunt Abby on the story of her “vision” and she told it in full detail. Marigny seemed interested, though a little impatient, and tried to hurry the recital.