“He would probably seize Pithecanthropus by the throat and risk every life in the room,” said Mailey. “No, no, it would never do.” “There is no doubt that Banderby is the strongest physical medium in England,” said Smith. “But we all know what his personal character is. You could not rely upon him.” “Why not?” asked Malone. “What’s the matter with him?” Smith raised his hand to his lips. “He has gone the way that many a medium has gone before him.” “But surely,” said Malone, “that is a strong argument against our cause. How can a thing be good if it leads to such a result?” “Do you consider poetry to be good?” “Why, of course I do!” “Yet Poe was a drunkard, and Coleridge an addict, and Byron a rake, and Verlaine a degenerate. You have to separate the man from the thing. The genius has to pay a ransom for his genius in the instability of his temperament. A great medium is even more sensitive than a genius. Many are beautiful in their lives. Some are not. The excuse for them is great. They practise a most exhausting profession and stimulants are needed. Then they lose control. But their physical mediumship carries on all the same.” “Which reminds me of a story about Banderby,” said Mailey. “Perhaps you have not seen him, Malone. He is a funny figure at any time--a little, round, bouncing man who has not seen his own toes for years. When drunk he is funnier still. A few weeks ago I got an urgent message that he was in the bar of a certain hotel, and too far gone to get home unassisted. A friend and I set forth to rescue him. We got him home after some unsavoury adventures, and what would the man do but insist upon holding a séance. We tried to restrain him, but the trumpet was on a side-table, and he suddenly switched off the light. In an instant the phenomena began. Never were they more powerful. But they were interrupted by Princeps, his control, who seized the trumpet and began belabouring him with it. ‘You rascal! You drunken rascal! How dare you! How dare you!’ The trumpet was all dinted with the blows. Banderby ran bellowing out of the room, and we took our departure.” “Well, it wasn’t the medium that time, at any rate,” said Mason. “But about Professor Challenger--it would never do to risk the chance.” “What about Tom Linden?” asked Mrs. Mailey. Mailey shook his head. “Tom has never been quite the same since his imprisonment. These fools not only persecute our precious mediums, but they ruin their powers. It is like putting a razor into a damp place and then expecting it to have a fine edge.” “What! Has he lost his powers?” “Well, I would not go so far as that. But they are not so good as they were. He sees a disguised policeman in every sitter and it distracts him. Still he is dependable so far as he goes. Yes, on the whole we had better have Tom.” “And the sitters?” “I expect Professor Challenger may wish to bring a friend or two of his own.”