“Ah, well, these are but words, my friends. They are there--somewhere--everywhere--I cannot tell myself. I see them. I could touch them.” “You could not make _us_ see them.” “It is to materialise them. Hold! It is an experiment. But the power is wanting. Let us see what power we have, and then arrange what we shall do. May I place you as I wish?” “You evidently know a great deal more about it than we do,” said Harvey Deacon; “I wish that you would take complete control.” “It may be that the conditions are not good. But we will try what we can do. Madame will sit where she is, I next, and this gentleman beside me. Meester Moir will sit next to madame, because it is well to have blacks and blondes in turn. So! And now with your permission I will turn the lights all out.” “What is the advantage of the dark?” I asked. “Because the force with which we deal is a vibration of ether and so also is light. We have the wires all for ourselves now--_hein_? You will not be frightened in the darkness, madame? What a fun is such a séance!” At first the darkness appeared to be absolutely pitchy, but in a few minutes our eyes became so far accustomed to it that we could just make out each other’s presence--very dimly and vaguely, it is true. I could see nothing else in the room--only the black loom of the motionless figures. We were all taking the matter much more seriously than we had ever done before. “You will place your hands in front. It is hopeless that we touch, since we are so few round so large a table. You will compose yourself, madame, and if sleep should come to you you will not fight against it. And now we sit in silence and we expect--_hein_?” So we sat in silence and expected, staring out into the blackness in front of us. A clock ticked in the passage. A dog barked intermittently far away. Once or twice a cab rattled past in the street, and the gleam of its lamps through the chink in the curtains was a cheerful break in that gloomy vigil. I felt those physical symptoms with which previous séances had made me familiar--the coldness of the feet, the tingling in the hands, the glow of the palms, the feeling of a cold wind upon the back. Strange little shooting pains came in my forearms, especially as it seemed to me in my left one, which was nearest to our visitor--due no doubt to disturbance of the vascular system, but worthy of some attention all the same. At the same time I was conscious of a strained feeling of expectancy which was almost painful. From the rigid, absolute silence of my companions I gathered that their nerves were as tense as my own. And then suddenly a sound came out of the darkness--a low, sibilant sound, the quick, thin breathing of a woman. Quicker and thinner yet it came, as between clenched teeth, to end in a loud gasp with a dull rustle of cloth. “What’s that? Is all right?” some one asked in the darkness.