“I’m better,” he said. “And it is you who have to tell me what happened. I remember up to a certain point, and after that I lost consciousness completely. I remember thinking you were rocking the table, and I told you not to.” “Yes; but I wasn’t rocking it. I thought you were.” “Well, it was neither of us, then,” said he. “I was vexed because Mrs. Gardner--Mrs. Forsyth had said she didn’t want that sort of thing, and I was reading her as I never read any one before. I told her about the locket and the black hair, I got her brother’s name, I got her name and her nickname Queenie. Then she asked if Denys could really come, and at that moment something began to take possession of me. I think I saw a light as usual over my breast, and I think I heard a tremendous rapping. Did you do either of those, or did they really happen?” Julia stared at him for a moment in silence. “I did neither of those,” she said; “but they happened. You must have pressed the breast-pocket switch and trod on the switch of the hammer.” He opened his coat. “I had not got the breast-pocket switch,” he said, “and I certainly did not tread on the hammer-switch.” Julia moved her chair a little closer to him. “The hammer did not sound right,” she said. “It was ten times louder than I have ever heard, and the light was quite different somehow. It was much brighter. I could see everything in the room quite distinctly. Go on, Dick.” “I can’t. That’s all I know until I came to, leaning over the table and bathed in perspiration. Tell me what happened.” “Dick, do you swear that is true?” she asked. “Certainly I do. Go on.” “The light grew, and then faded again to a glimmer,” she said, “and then suddenly you began to talk in a different voice: it wasn’t Mentu any longer. Mrs. Forsyth recognized it instantly, and I thought what wonderful luck it was that you should have hit on a voice that was like her brother’s. Then it and she had a long talk; it must have lasted half an hour. They reminded each other how Denys had come to live with her and her husband on their father’s death. He was only eighteen at the time and still at school. He was killed in a street accident, being run over by a bicycle two days before her birthday. All this was correct, and I thought I never heard you mind-reading so clearly and quickly; you hardly paused at all.” Julia was silent a moment. “Dick, don’t you really know what followed?” she asked. “Not in the smallest degree,” he said.