“I can find him,” said Montecatini, and almost on the echo of the words a distinct audible rap came from the ceiling of the room. Carthew recognized it instantly and flinched as if it were a personal blow at him. “Have you got Tregarthen there?” I asked. “No, they won’t let him come here,” was the answer. “Why won’t they let him come?” “Afraid of him.” “Who is it rapping, then?” “It’s a sent rap for somebody. I didn’t do it.” “Who is the rap for?” “For the brown man.” (Carthew was sunburnt.) “He wants to speak to the spirit who sends it.” “He can’t, it’s from a bad spirit.” “But you said you could find Tregarthen.” “I have found him, but I can’t bring him.” “Why not?” “He is too heavy.” “What do you mean?” “Too heavy--too low down--too much hatred.” “Can’t Louis help you bring him?” This was answered after a pause by the voice of Louis. “We will try if you all help--but the brown man is hindering us.” I then determined to break the circle and set Carthew on a chair outside. “If you want to get through to Tregarthen,” I told him, “you must subdue that hatred of yours. I am going to try for Tregarthen by the direct voice method.” I placed an ordinary gramophone trumpet on a light table within the circle, then we rejoined hands and concentrated. “Can you get Tregarthen now?” I asked. “Yes, he is coming--but he doesn’t want to come.” “I want him to speak to us through the trumpet,” I told them. Almost immediately there were three knocks on the table close by the trumpet. Then the voice came out of the trumpet, not out of the medium, but it was the voice of Montecatini. “He’s a bad spirit and he won’t talk,” said the control. “Ask him if he knows who’s here?” “Carthew!” blared the trumpet _in the voice of Tregarthen_. I heard the crash of Carthew’s chair falling back as he rose, and then his words: “Tregarthen--at last!” The trumpet chuckled at him, a hard sardonic chuckle, and it was a dreadful thing to hear. “Stop that, Tregarthen,” I said sharply. “Now listen to me. You must stop sending these knocks. You have proved to Carthew that you were right, and for the future there is no sense in it.” Again the trumpet began to chuckle. “I want Carthew--here,” said the voice of Tregarthen. “I want him to keep me company where I am now.” The medium began to writhe uneasily, and I suddenly realized that something dangerous had happened. The two normal controls, “Louis” and “Montecatini,” whom we had sent to fetch Tregarthen’s spirit, had disappeared _and Tregarthen himself had taken over control_. Something of a spirit of uneasiness and a general sense of danger began to spread through the circle. I called to Carthew to come into the circle again and to cross his hands, grasping my wrist and Miller’s, so as not to break the chain when entering.