“I don’t know. It confuses me.” “I believe it is half guess-work and the other half a case of confederates. These people are all of the same church and naturally they know each other’s affairs. If they don’t know they can enquire.” “Someone said it was Mrs. Debbs’ first visit.” “Yes, but they could easily coach her up. It is all clever quackery and bluff. It _must_ be, for just think what is implied if it is not.” “Telepathy, perhaps.” “Yes, some element of that also. Listen! She is off again.” Her next attempt was more fortunate. A lugubrious man at the back of the hall readily recognised the description and claims of his deceased wife. “I get the name Walter.” “Yes, that’s me.” “She called you Walt?” “No.” “Well, she calls Wat now. ‘Tell Wat to give my love to the children.’ That’s how I get it. She is worrying about the children.” “She always did.” “Well, they don’t change. Furniture. Something about furniture. She says you gave it away. Is that right?” “Well, I might as well.” The audience tittered. It was strange how the most solemn and the comic were eternally blended--strange and yet very natural and human. “She has a message: ‘The man will pay up and all will be well. Be a good man, Wat, and we will be happier here than ever we were on earth.’” The man put his hand over his eyes. As the seeress stood irresolute the tall young secretary half rose and whispered something in her ear. The woman shot a swift glance over her left shoulder in the direction of the visitors. “I’ll come back to it,” said she. She gave two more descriptions to the audience, both of them rather vague, and both recognised with some reservations. It was a curious fact that her details were such as she could not possibly see at the distance. Thus, dealing with a form which she claimed had built up at the far end of the hall, she could none the less give the colour of the eyes and small points of the face. Malone noted the point as one which he could use for destructive criticism. He was just jotting it down when the woman’s voice sounded louder and, looking up, he found that she had turned her head and her spectacles were flashing in his direction. “It is not often I give a reading from the platform,” said she, her face rotating between him and the audience, “but we have friends here to-night, and it may interest them to come in contact with the spirit people. There is a presence building up behind the gentleman with a moustache--the gentleman who sits next to the young lady. Yes, sir, behind you. He is a man of middle size, rather inclined to shortness. He is old, over sixty, with white hair, curved nose and a white, small beard of the variety that is called goatee. He is no relation, I gather, but a friend. Does that suggest anyone to you, sir?” Malone shook his head with some contempt. “It would fit nearly any old man,” he whispered to Enid.