“Yes! Yes!” cried Bolsover. “We have quite a number who report progress from time to time. God bless you, friend. Come as often as you can.” The mutter had ceased and there seemed to be a new feeling of peace in the air. The high voice of Wee One was heard. “Plenty power still left. Red Cloud here. Show what he can do, if Daddy likes.” “Red Cloud is our Indian control. He is usually busy when any purely physical phenomena have to be done. You there, Red Cloud?” Three loud thuds, like a hammer on wood, sounded from the darkness. “Good evening, Red Cloud!” A new voice, slow, staccato, laboured, sounded above them. “Good day, Chief! How the squaw? How the papooses? Strange faces in wigwam to-night.” “Seeking knowledge, Red Cloud. Can you show what you can do?” “I try. Wait a little. Do all I can.” Again there was a long hush of expectancy. Then the novices were faced once more with the miraculous. There came a dull glow in the darkness. It was apparently a wisp of luminous vapour. It whisked across from one side to the other and then circled in the air. By degrees it condensed into a circular disc of radiance about the size of a bull’s-eye lantern. It cast no reflection round it and was simply a clean-cut circle in the gloom. Once it approached Enid’s face and Malone saw it clearly from the side. “Why, there is a hand holding it!” he cried, with sudden suspicion. “Yes, there is a materialised hand,” said Mailey. “I can see it clearly.” “Would you like it to touch you, Mr. Malone?” “Yes, if it will.” The light vanished and an instant afterwards Malone felt pressure upon his own hand. He turned it palm upwards and clearly felt three fingers laid across it, smooth, warm fingers of adult size. He closed his own fingers and the hand seemed to melt away in his grasp. “It has gone!” he gasped. “Yes! Red Cloud is not very good at materialisations. Perhaps we don’t give him the proper sort of power. But his lights are excellent.” Several more had broken out. They were of different types, slow-moving clouds and little dancing sparks like glowworms. At the same time both visitors were conscious of a cold wind which blew upon their faces. It was no delusion, for Enid felt her hair stream across her forehead. “You feel the rushing wind,” said Mailey. “Some of these lights would pass for tongues of fire, would they not? Pentecost does not seem such a very remote or impossible thing, does it?” The tambourine had risen in the air, and the dot of luminous paint showed that it was circling round. Presently it descended and touched their heads each in turn. Then with a jingle it quivered down upon the table. “Why a tambourine? It seems always to be a tambourine,” remarked Malone. “It is a convenient little instrument,” Mailey explained. “The only one which shows automatically by its noise where it is flying. I don’t know what other I could suggest except a musical-box.”