She went on like that for quite a time, becoming more and more affected until she could hardly speak. But on this occasion her repetitions—even her paroxysms of emotion—were no longer wearisome to those present. As soon as it became necessary for her to pause for breath—for while it’s more than unlikely that a spirit needs any, the same could hardly be said of a medium—a flood of incisive questioning poured in, which ran something like this: PROFESSOR ELBERTSON (_a psychologist_): “Mrs. Findlay, if you know your son did not commit the crime he’s charged with, you must also know who did.” MR. BLATCHFORD (_an attorney_): “Certainly. Your knowledge implies that you are in a position where you have an insight of the case. This insight should enable you to give us the name of the guilty one.” THE SPIRIT: “Oh, don’t ask me! I can’t—I can’t!” DOCTOR WINGATE (_a physician_): “Who prevents you? Who stops you when so much depends on it? Let us know who this person—this spirit—is.” THE SPIRIT: “There’s no ‘who.’ Nothing can be said—no words—no—no—no words!” MR. HALSTED (_a prestidigitator_): “Do you mean, Mrs. Findlay, that there is no person or being or entity of any description who forbids you or stands in the way of your telling us this?” THE SPIRIT: “No such thing as that! I am held by an influence from all that is, of which I myself am an infinitesimal part.” MR. BLATCHFORD: “Then why does not this prohibitive influence prevent you from informing us as to your son? You experience no difficulty in declaring his innocence. Is it a law that operates either way according to its fancy?” THE SPIRIT: “My own influence, though infinitesimal as a rule, becomes of more consequence than all others when it concerns my son, and the balance is turned. For him I can speak across to you and beg you to save him.” MR. BLATCHFORD: “Then surely for him you can reveal the facts that will accomplish that result.” THE SPIRIT: “Perhaps I can—oh, perhaps—perhaps! But it can’t be now! If it can be—I’ll come again!” The voice trailed away in a despairing moan and the spirit of Cynthia was gone. Mrs. Belden came out of the trance rather suddenly, rubbing her eyes and glancing questioningly at her director and the members of the committee. As before, she seemed greatly exhausted by the use to which the spirit of Cynthia had put her, and found herself in a cold perspiration. While no real test had yet been furnished by Mrs. Belden, a majority of the committee had a feeling that the next visit of the spirit of Cynthia would supply one, while a pessimistic minority openly stated that there wouldn’t be any next visit,—that the questioning they had given her would keep her occupied in other spheres, and that it was an exceedingly good way to be rid of her.