The doctor shrugged his shoulders and took a few steps toward the door. "You may think better of it when you talk it over," he hinted darkly. "You may see my side of it. Good afternoon, Madam Spoll, I won’t take no more of your valuable time." He walked out. "You was a fool, Gert," said Vixley, after the door slammed. "It won’t do to let him get down on us. He knows too much." "Pooh!" she flouted, bridling. "I ain’t afraid of Masterson, nor anybody like him. He ain’t got enough blood in his neck to do anything. He just came round here like a pan-handler to see if we wouldn’t give him a poke-out. I’ll see him further!" "I ain’t so sure," Vixley replied, rubbing his beard thoughtfully. "My rule is, don’t make no enemies if you can help it. But of course we got to cut him out." Madam Spoll subsided and changed the subject. "Have you got that developing machine yet?" she asked, her eyes, roving about the room. He walked to the desk and carried the machine to the small table in front of her. Taking off the cloth he disclosed the revolving mirrors actuated by clockwork. It was much like the instrument first used by Braid in his experiments with mesmerism. He wound the spring and set the mirrors in motion. They whirled madly in their circle, casting flashes of light. "That’s the way it works—you just stare at it hard. I guess that will hold Payson a while. He’s got the scientific bug enough to like this sort of thing." Madam Spoll put her elbow on the table and rested her head on her hand, gazing, fascinated, at the flash of the revolving mirrors. As the machine began to whir, the canary in the cage by the window began warbling in an ecstasy of song. Vixley swore at the bird, and then, as it refused to stop, took down the cage and walked to the door with it. "I guess that’ll bring Felicia, all right, won’t it?" he said as he went out of the room, leaving Madam Spoll transfixed, lulled and charmed by the flying mirrors. He was gone longer than he intended; it was seven or eight minutes before he returned, whistling through his teeth. He turned into the front room and stopped in astonishment. Madam Spoll was standing beside the machine, which had now run down. Her eyes stared blankly at the desk, one hand clutched her breast, the other was raised, as if to put something away from her. Her little low-crowned Derby hat had fallen partly off and hung on one side of her head. She stared, without speaking, her face set with an expression of terror. "For Heaven’s sake, Gert, what’s the matter?" he cried. She turned her eyes slowly toward him, shuddered, sighed, and her hands fell together. Then her face lighted up in a frenzy. "My God, Vixley, I got it! I got it! After all these years!" "Got what, you crazy fool? The jimjams?" "I got materializing—I got a spirit! She was right over there by the desk—a woman with white hair, it was, and she give me a message!"