“Only half-formed,” she answered. “The lower face had not materialised. Some of you would have been alarmed. I think that we shall have no more to-night. The power has sunk very low.” So it proved. The lights were gradually turned on. The medium lay with a white face and a clammy brow in his chair, while his wife sedulously watched over him, unbuttoning his collar and bathing his face from a water-glass. The company broke into little groups, discussing what they had seen. “Oh, wasn’t it thrilling!” cried Miss Badley. “It really was most exciting. But what a pity we could not see the one with the semi-materialised face.” “Thank you, I have seen quite enough,” said the pompous mystic, all the pomposity shaken out of him. “I confess that it has been rather too much for my nerves.” Dr. Atkinson found himself near the psychic researchers. “Well, what do you make of it?” he asked. “I have seen it better done at Maskelyne’s Hall,” said one. “Oh, come, Scott!” said the other. “You’ve no right to say that. You admitted that the cabinet was fraud-proof.” “Well, so do the committees who go on the stage at Maskelyne’s.” “Yes, but it is Maskelyne’s own stage. This is not Linden’s own stage. He has no machinery.” “_Populus vult decipi_,” the other answered, shrugging his shoulders. “I should certainly reserve judgment.” He moved away with the dignity of one who cannot be deceived, while his more rational companion still argued with him as they went. “Did you hear that?” said Atkinson. “There is a certain class of psychic researcher who is absolutely incapable of receiving evidence. They misuse their brains by straining them to find a way round when the road is quite clear before them. When the human race advances into its new kingdom, these intellectual men will form the absolute rear.” “No, no,” said Mailey, laughing. “The bishops are predestined to be the rearguard. I see them all marching in step, a solid body, with their gaiters and cassocks--the last in the whole world to reach spiritual truth.” “Oh, come,” said Enid, “that is too severe. They are all good men.” “Of course they are. It’s quite physiological. They are a body of elderly men, and the elderly brain is sclerosed and cannot record new impressions. It’s not their fault, but the fact remains. You are very silent, Malone.” But Malone was thinking of a little, squat, dark figure which waved its hands in joy when he spoke to it. It was with that image in his mind that he turned from this room of wonders and passed down into the street. CHAPTER VI IN WHICH THE READER IS SHOWN THE HABITS OF A NOTORIOUS CRIMINAL We will now leave that little group with whom we have made our first exploration of these grey and ill-defined, but immensely important, regions of human thought and experiences. From the researchers we will turn to the researched. Come with me and we will visit Mr. Linden at home, and will examine the lights and shades which make up the life of a professional medium.