With all her determination, the woman was undoubtedly sadly distraught. The pistol by her side hinted at violence. Her dishevelled hair, the distraction of her garments, her clinched fists and tightened brows told clearly of some moving experience. Above all, the corpse beside the engine, and her attempts to hide it, proclaimed some secret tragedy. Yet while her mouth trembled her eyes were steady; if he made a wrong guess it might not be well for him. At the end of his explanations she had melted in a burst of feminine credulity and hunger for the marvellous. “Then you can help me,” she exclaimed, throwing herself upon his leadership in a swift submission to the dominant sex. “You _must_ help me! I am in great trouble, and what is to be done must be done quickly. Can you hold a sitting now? I want to find something as soon as I can—it is of the greatest importance—I would give any price to know where to find it. You must get your spirit friends to help me!” The medium shuffled. “You’re rather nervous, and the conditions ain’t favourable when a party is excited or sufferin’ from excitin’ emotions. The proper degree of mutuality ain’t to be obtained unless a sitter is what you might call undisturbed.” Then he put all his shrewdness into a piercing gaze. “Besides, you got murder on you! I see a red aura hoverin’ over you like you had bloody hands!” At this the quadroon burst out, “I haven’t, but I wish I had, and it isn’t my fault!” “Confession is good for the soul of a party,” Vango said, with unction. “I’ll tell you everything, if you’ll only promise to help me. I am innocent of any real crime, I swear before God! But I tried to kill a man to-night. It was in self-defence, though.” She took the lantern, and, setting the light on the seat, pointed silently to the body. “Look at him!” she said. After a heroic conflict with his repugnance the medium rolled the corpse over till it lay face up. The dead man was a Chinaman. He could see that by his clothes and hair, although his face was half masked with clotted blood. Two shocking gashes in the forehead turned Vango sick with horror. He looked up at the woman with fear in his eyes, and asked: “Who was the deceased?” “It was my husband,” she said, and her sobs choked her. “We must get him ashore and put him in the house, and then we can decide what next, and perhaps you can help me. There’s our pier, over there,” and she pointed out the light on a little wharf running out from the gloom. She took the wheel again, and the launch was docked at the pier. As Vango disembarked and prepared to help her with the corpse, the quadroon woman quickly stopped him. “Here,” she said, pointing to a large wooden case in the bow, “this must go ashore first. Take it into the shed there and watch out that you’re not seen. It won’t do for the police to see it, or any of the neighbours. I’d rather they saw the body!”