The Séance

On a March evening, at eight o’clock, Backhouse, the medium—a fast-rising star in the psychic world—was ushered into the study at Prolands, the Hampstead residence of Montague Faull. The room was illuminated only by the light of a blazing fire. The host, eying him with indolent curiosity, got up, and the usual conventional greetings were exchanged. Having indicated an easy chair before the fire to his guest, the South American merchant sank back again into his own. The electric light was switched on. Faull’s prominent, clear-cut features, metallic-looking skin, and general air of bored impassiveness, did not seem greatly to impress the medium, who was accustomed to regard men from a special angle. Backhouse, on the contrary, was a novelty to the merchant. As he tranquilly studied him through half closed lids and the smoke of a cigar, he wondered how this little, thickset person with the pointed beard contrived to remain so fresh and sane in appearance, in view of the morbid nature of his occupation.

At eight o’clock on a March evening, Backhouse, the medium, was shown into the study at Prolands. He was a rising star in the psychic world. Prolands was the Hampstead home of Montague Faull. A blazing fire provided the room’s only light. Faull watched Backhouse with idle curiosity as he stood up, and they exchanged the usual greetings. The South American merchant offered his guest an armchair by the fire, then sank back into his own chair. The electric light was switched on. Faull had prominent, sharply defined features, metallic-looking skin, and an air of bored indifference. But Backhouse did not seem very impressed. He was used to looking at men from a particular angle. Backhouse, on the other hand, was new to the merchant. Faull calmly studied him through half-closed eyes and cigar smoke. He wondered how this short, stocky man with a pointed beard managed to look so fresh and sane, given the morbid nature of his work.

“Do you smoke?” drawled Faull, by way of starting the conversation. “No? Then will you take a drink?”

“Do you smoke?” Faull asked slowly, starting the conversation. “No? Then would you like a drink?”

“Not at present, I thank you.”

“Not right now, thank you.”

A pause.

A pause.

“Everything is satisfactory? The materialisation will take place?”

“Is everything all right? Will the materialisation happen?”

“I see no reason to doubt it.”

“I see no reason to doubt it.”

“That’s good, for I would not like my guests to be disappointed. I have your check written out in my pocket.”

“That’s good, because I wouldn’t want my guests to be disappointed. I have your check written out in my pocket.”

“Afterward will do quite well.”

“Later will be fine.”

“Nine o’clock was the time specified, I believe?”

“Nine o’clock was the time given, I believe?”

“I fancy so.”

“I suppose so.”

The conversation continued to flag. Faull sprawled in his chair, and remained apathetic.

The conversation continued to lag. Faull sprawled in his chair and remained uninterested.

“Would you care to hear what arrangements I have made?”

“Would you like to hear what plans I've made?”

“I am unaware that any are necessary, beyond chairs for your guests.”

“I don't know of anything else that's needed, apart from chairs for your guests.”

“I mean the decoration of the séance room, the music, and so forth.”

“I mean the decorations in the séance room, the music, and so on.”

Backhouse stared at his host. “But this is not a theatrical performance.”

Backhouse stared at his host. “But this isn't a play.”

“That’s correct. Perhaps I ought to explain.... There will be ladies present, and ladies, you know, are aesthetically inclined.”

“That’s right. Perhaps I should explain.... There will be women present, and women, you know, appreciate beauty.”

“In that case I have no objection. I only hope they will enjoy the performance to the end.”

“In that case, I don't mind. I only hope they enjoy the performance all the way to the end.”

He spoke rather dryly.

He spoke in a rather dry tone.

“Well, that’s all right, then,” said Faull. Flicking his cigar into the fire, he got up and helped himself to whisky.

“Well, that’s all right, then,” said Faull. He flicked his cigar into the fire, got up, and poured himself some whisky.

“Will you come and see the room?”

“Will you come and see the room?”

“Thank you, no. I prefer to have nothing to do with it till the time arrives.”

“Thank you, no. I’d rather have nothing to do with it until the time comes.”

“Then let’s go to see my sister, Mrs. Jameson, who is in the drawing room. She sometimes does me the kindness to act as my hostess, as I am unmarried.”

“Then let’s go see my sister, Mrs. Jameson. She’s in the drawing room. Since I’m unmarried, she sometimes kindly acts as my hostess.”

“I will be delighted,” said Backhouse coldly.

“I’d be delighted,” said Backhouse coldly.

They found the lady alone, sitting by the open pianoforte in a pensive attitude. She had been playing Scriabin and was overcome. The medium took in her small, tight, patrician features and porcelain-like hands, and wondered how Faull came by such a sister. She received him bravely, with just a shade of quiet emotion. He was used to such receptions at the hands of the sex, and knew well how to respond to them.

They found the woman alone, sitting thoughtfully by the open piano. She had been playing Scriabin and was overwhelmed with emotion. The medium noticed her small, finely drawn aristocratic features and porcelain-like hands. He wondered how Faull had come to have such a sister. She greeted him bravely, showing just a hint of quiet emotion. He was used to such greetings from women and knew well how to respond.

“What amazes me,” she half whispered, after ten minutes of graceful, hollow conversation, “is, if you must know it, not so much the manifestation itself—though that will surely be wonderful—as your assurance that it will take place. Tell me the grounds of your confidence.”

After ten minutes of graceful but empty conversation, she half whispered, “If you must know, what amazes me is not so much the manifestation itself. Though that will surely be wonderful, I’m more amazed that you’re sure it will happen. Tell me why you’re so confident.”

“I dream with open eyes,” he answered, looking around at the door, “and others see my dreams. That is all.”

“I dream with my eyes open,” he answered, looking around at the door, “and others see my dreams. That is all.”

“But that’s beautiful,” responded Mrs. Jameson. She smiled rather absently, for the first guest had just entered.

“But that’s beautiful,” replied Mrs. Jameson. She smiled somewhat absently because the first guest had just entered.

It was Kent-Smith, the ex-magistrate, celebrated for his shrewd judicial humour, which, however, he had the good sense not to attempt to carry into private life. Although well on the wrong side of seventy, his eyes were still disconcertingly bright. With the selective skill of an old man, he immediately settled himself in the most comfortable of many comfortable chairs.

It was Kent-Smith, the former magistrate, who was famous for his sharp wit on the bench. But he had the good sense not to try to use it in private life. Although he was well over seventy, his eyes were still unsettlingly bright. With an old man's skill for choosing, he immediately settled into the most comfortable of the many comfortable chairs.

“So we are to see wonders tonight?”

“So we’re going to see wonders tonight?”

“Fresh material for your autobiography,” remarked Faull.

“Fresh material for your autobiography,” said Faull.

“Ah, you should not have mentioned my unfortunate book. An old public servant is merely amusing himself in his retirement, Mr. Backhouse. You have no cause for alarm—I have studied in the school of discretion.”

“Ah, you shouldn’t have mentioned my unfortunate book. An old public servant is just amusing himself in retirement, Mr. Backhouse. You have nothing to worry about. I’ve learned to be discreet.”

“I am not alarmed. There can be no possible objection to your publishing whatever you please.”

“I’m not alarmed. There can be no objection to your publishing whatever you want.”

“You are most kind,” said the old man, with a cunning smile.

“You’re very kind,” said the old man with a cunning smile.

“Trent is not coming tonight,” remarked Mrs. Jameson, throwing a curious little glance at her brother.

“Trent is not coming tonight,” said Mrs. Jameson, giving her brother a curious little glance.

“I never thought he would. It’s not in his line.”

“I never thought he would. It’s not his kind of thing.”

“Mrs. Trent, you must understand,” she went on, addressing the ex-magistrate, “has placed us all under a debt of gratitude. She has decorated the old lounge hall upstairs most beautifully, and has secured the services of the sweetest little orchestra.”

“Mrs. Trent, you should know,” she continued, speaking to the former magistrate, “has given us all reason to be grateful. She has decorated the old lounge hall upstairs beautifully and arranged for the sweetest little orchestra to play.”

“But this is Roman magnificence.”

“But this is Roman grandeur.”

“Backhouse thinks the spirits should be treated with more deference,” laughed Faull.

“Backhouse thinks we should treat the spirits with more respect,” laughed Faull.

“Surely, Mr. Backhouse—a poetic environment...”

“Surely, Mr. Backhouse, a poetic setting...”

“Pardon me. I am a simple man, and always prefer to reduce things to elemental simplicity. I raise no opposition, but I express my opinion. Nature is one thing, and art is another.”

“Excuse me. I am a simple man, and I always prefer to reduce things to their simplest form. I am not objecting, but I am expressing my opinion. Nature is one thing, and art is another.”

“And I am not sure that I don’t agree with you,” said the ex-magistrate. “An occasion like this ought to be simple, to guard against the possibility of deception—if you will forgive my bluntness, Mr. Backhouse.”

“And I’m not sure I disagree with you,” said the former magistrate. “An occasion like this should be simple, to prevent any possibility of deception. Forgive my bluntness, Mr. Backhouse.”

“We shall sit in full light,” replied Backhouse, “and every opportunity will be given to all to inspect the room. I shall also ask you to submit me to a personal examination.”

“We’ll sit in full light,” replied Backhouse, “and everyone will have every opportunity to inspect the room. I’ll also ask you to examine me personally.”

A rather embarrassed silence followed. It was broken by the arrival of two more guests, who entered together. These were Prior, the prosperous City coffee importer, and Lang, the stockjobber, well known in his own circle as an amateur prestidigitator. Backhouse was slightly acquainted with the latter. Prior, perfuming the room with the faint odour of wine and tobacco smoke, tried to introduce an atmosphere of joviality into the proceedings. Finding that no one seconded his efforts, however, he shortly subsided and fell to examining the water colours on the walls. Lang, tall, thin, and growing bald, said little, but stared at Backhouse a good deal.

A rather awkward silence followed. It was broken when two more guests arrived together. They were Prior, a prosperous City coffee importer, and Lang, a stockbroker known in his circle as an amateur magician. Backhouse knew Lang slightly. Prior brought a faint smell of wine and tobacco smoke into the room and tried to make the gathering more cheerful. But no one joined in, so he soon gave up and began examining the watercolors on the walls. Lang was tall, thin, and growing bald. He said little, but stared at Backhouse a good deal.

Coffee, liqueurs, and cigarettes were now brought in. Everyone partook, except Lang and the medium. At the same moment, Professor Halbart was announced. He was the eminent psychologist, the author and lecturer on crime, insanity, genius, and so forth, considered in their mental aspects. His presence at such a gathering somewhat mystified the other guests, but all felt as if the object of their meeting had immediately acquired additional solemnity. He was small, meagre-looking, and mild in manner, but was probably the most stubborn-brained of all that mixed company. Completely ignoring the medium, he at once sat down beside Kent-Smith, with whom he began to exchange remarks.

Coffee, liqueurs, and cigarettes were brought in. Everyone had some except Lang and the medium. At the same moment, Professor Halbart was announced. He was a distinguished psychologist who wrote and lectured on the mental aspects of crime, insanity, genius, and other subjects. His presence at such a gathering puzzled the other guests. But they all felt as if the purpose of their meeting had suddenly become more serious. He was small, thin, and mild-mannered, but probably the most stubborn thinker in the entire mixed group. He completely ignored the medium and immediately sat down beside Kent-Smith. The two began to talk.

At a few minutes past the appointed hour Mrs. Trent entered, unannounced. She was a woman of about twenty-eight. She had a white, demure, saintlike face, smooth black hair, and lips so crimson and full that they seemed to be bursting with blood. Her tall, graceful body was most expensively attired. Kisses were exchanged between her and Mrs. Jameson. She bowed to the rest of the assembly, and stole a half glance and a smile at Faull. The latter gave her a queer look, and Backhouse, who lost nothing, saw the concealed barbarian in the complacent gleam of his eye. She refused the refreshment that was offered her, and Faull proposed that, as everyone had now arrived, they should adjourn to the lounge hall.

A few minutes after the appointed time, Mrs. Trent entered without being announced. She was about twenty-eight. Her face was pale, modest, and saintlike. She had smooth black hair and lips so full and crimson that they seemed to be bursting with blood. Her tall, graceful figure was dressed in very expensive clothes. She and Mrs. Jameson exchanged kisses. She bowed to the rest of the gathering and gave Faull a quick glance and a smile. Faull gave her a strange look. Backhouse, who noticed everything, saw the hidden barbarian in the self-satisfied gleam in Faull’s eye. She declined the refreshments offered to her. Since everyone had now arrived, Faull suggested they move to the lounge hall.

Mrs. Trent held up a slender palm. “Did you, or did you not, give me carte blanche, Montague?”

Mrs. Trent held up a slender hand. “Did you or did you not give me complete freedom, Montague?”

“Of course I did,” said Faull, laughing. “But what’s the matter?”

“Of course I did,” said Faull, laughing. “But what’s the matter?”

“Perhaps I have been rather presumptuous. I don’t know. I have invited a couple of friends to join us. No, no one knows them.... The two most extraordinary individuals you ever saw. And mediums, I am sure.”

“Perhaps I’ve been a little too bold. I don’t know. I’ve invited a couple of friends to join us. No, no one knows them.... They’re the two most extraordinary people you’ve ever seen. And I’m sure they’re mediums.”

“It sounds very mysterious. Who are these conspirators?”

“That sounds very mysterious. Who are these conspirators?”

“At least tell us their names, you provoking girl,” put in Mrs. Jameson.

“At least tell us their names, you teasing girl,” Mrs. Jameson interjected.

“One rejoices in the name of Maskull, and the other in that of Nightspore. That’s nearly all that I know about them, so don’t overwhelm me with any more questions.”

“One is called Maskull, and the other is called Nightspore. That’s nearly all I know about them, so don’t overwhelm me with any more questions.”

“But where did you pick them up? You must have picked them up somewhere.”

“But where did you pick them up? You must have picked them up somewhere.”

“But this is a cross-examination. Have I sinned against convention? I swear I will tell you not another word about them. They will be here directly, and then I will deliver them to your tender mercy.”

“But this is an interrogation. Have I broken some social rule? I swear I won’t tell you another word about them. They’ll be here soon, and then I’ll hand them over to your tender mercy.”

“I don’t know them,” said Faull, “and nobody else seems to, but, of course, we will all be very pleased to have them.... Shall we wait, or what?”

“I don’t know them,” said Faull, “and nobody else seems to either. But of course, we’ll all be very happy to have them.... Should we wait, or what?”

“I said nine, and it’s past that now. It’s quite possible they may not turn up after all.... Anyway, don’t wait.”

“I said nine, and it’s past nine now. They may not show up after all.... Anyway, don’t wait.”

“I would prefer to start at once,” said Backhouse.

“I'd prefer to start right away,” said Backhouse.

The lounge, a lofty room, forty feet long by twenty wide, had been divided for the occasion into two equal parts by a heavy brocade curtain drawn across the middle. The far end was thus concealed. The nearer half had been converted into an auditorium by a crescent of armchairs. There was no other furniture. A large fire was burning halfway along the wall, between the chairbacks and the door. The room was brilliantly lighted by electric bracket lamps. A sumptuous carpet covered the floor.

The lounge was a high-ceilinged room, forty feet long and twenty feet wide. For the occasion, a heavy brocade curtain divided it into two equal parts, hiding the far end. A crescent of armchairs turned the nearer half into an auditorium. There was no other furniture. A large fire burned halfway along the wall, between the backs of the chairs and the door. Electric wall lamps lit the room brightly. A luxurious carpet covered the floor.

Having settled his guests in their seats, Faull stepped up to the curtain and flung it aside. A replica, or nearly so, of the Drury Lane presentation of the temple scene in The Magic Flute was then exposed to view: the gloomy, massive architecture of the interior, the glowing sky above it in the background, and, silhouetted against the latter, the gigantic seated statue of the Pharaoh. A fantastically carved wooden couch lay before the pedestal of the statue. Near the curtain, obliquely placed to the auditorium, was a plain oak armchair, for the use of the medium.

After seating his guests, Faull stepped up to the curtain and flung it aside. Behind it was an almost exact copy of the temple scene from the Drury Lane production of The Magic Flute. The interior had gloomy, massive architecture, with a glowing sky in the background. Against the sky stood the silhouette of a gigantic seated statue of the Pharaoh. A fantastically carved wooden couch lay before the statue’s pedestal. Near the curtain, a plain oak armchair for the medium sat at an angle to the audience.

Many of those present felt privately that the setting was quite inappropriate to the occasion and savoured rather unpleasantly of ostentation. Backhouse in particular seemed put out. The usual compliments, however, were showered on Mrs. Trent as the deviser of so remarkable a theatre. Faull invited his friends to step forward and examine the apartment as minutely as they might desire. Prior and Lang were the only ones to accept. The former wandered about among the pasteboard scenery, whistling to himself and occasionally tapping a part of it with his knuckles. Lang, who was in his element, ignored the rest of his party and commenced a patient, systematic search, on his own account, for secret apparatus. Faull and Mrs. Trent stood in a corner of the temple, talking together in low tones; while Mrs. Jameson, pretending to hold Backhouse in conversation, watched them as only a deeply interested woman knows how to watch.

Many of those present privately felt that the setting was quite inappropriate for the occasion and unpleasantly showy. Backhouse in particular seemed annoyed. Even so, everyone offered the usual compliments to Mrs. Trent for creating such a remarkable setting. Faull invited his friends to step forward and examine the room as closely as they wished. Only Prior and Lang accepted. Prior wandered among the cardboard scenery, whistling to himself and occasionally tapping it with his knuckles. Lang was in his element. He ignored the rest of the group and began patiently and systematically searching on his own for hidden equipment. Faull and Mrs. Trent stood in a corner of the temple, talking quietly together. Meanwhile, Mrs. Jameson pretended to talk with Backhouse. She watched Faull and Mrs. Trent as only a deeply interested woman knows how to watch.

Lang, to his own disgust, having failed to find anything of a suspicious nature, the medium now requested that his own clothing should be searched.

Lang had found nothing suspicious, much to his own disgust. The medium now asked Lang to search his clothing.

“All these precautions are quite needless and beside the matter in hand, as you will immediately see for yourselves. My reputation demands, however, that other people who are not present would not be able to say afterward that trickery has been resorted to.”

“All these precautions are unnecessary and have nothing to do with the matter at hand, as you will soon see for yourselves. However, I must protect my reputation. People who are not here must not be able to say afterward that trickery was used.”

To Lang again fell the ungrateful task of investigating pockets and sleeves. Within a few minutes he expressed himself satisfied that nothing mechanical was in Backhouse’s possession. The guests reseated themselves. Faull ordered two more chairs to be brought for Mrs. Trent’s friends, who, however, had not yet arrived. He then pressed an electric bell, and took his own seat.

Once again, Lang had the unpleasant task of searching pockets and sleeves. Within a few minutes, he said he was satisfied that Backhouse had no mechanical devices on him. The guests sat down again. Faull ordered two more chairs for Mrs. Trent’s friends, though they had not yet arrived. He then pressed an electric bell and took his own seat.

The signal was for the hidden orchestra to begin playing. A murmur of surprise passed through the audience as, without previous warning, the beautiful and solemn strains of Mozart’s “temple” music pulsated through the air. The expectation of everyone was raised, while, beneath her pallor and composure, it could be seen that Mrs. Trent was deeply moved. It was evident that aesthetically she was by far the most important person present. Faull watched her, with his face sunk on his chest, sprawling as usual.

The signal told the hidden orchestra to begin playing. A murmur of surprise passed through the audience as Mozart’s beautiful, solemn “temple” music filled the air without warning. Everyone’s expectations rose. Though pale and composed, Mrs. Trent was visibly moved. Clearly, she was by far the most important person present in matters of art and beauty. Faull watched her, sprawled as usual, with his chin on his chest.

Backhouse stood up, with one hand on the back of his chair, and began speaking. The music instantly sank to pianissimo, and remained so for as long as he was on his legs.

Backhouse stood up with one hand on the back of his chair and began speaking. The music immediately became very quiet and stayed that way as long as he stood.

“Ladies and gentlemen, you are about to witness a materialisation. That means you will see something appear in space that was not previously there. At first it will appear as a vaporous form, but finally it will be a solid body, which anyone present may feel and handle—and, for example, shake hands with. For this body will be in the human shape. It will be a real man or woman—which, I can’t say—but a man or woman without known antecedents. If, however, you demand from me an explanation of the origin of this materialised form—where it comes from, whence the atoms and molecules composing its tissues are derived—I am unable to satisfy you. I am about to produce the phenomenon; if anyone can explain it to me afterward, I shall be very grateful.... That is all I have to say.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, you are about to witness a materialisation. That means you will see something appear in space that was not there before. At first, it will look like vapor. But finally it will become a solid body that anyone here can touch and handle. You may even shake hands with it. For this body will have a human shape. It will be a real man or woman. I can’t say which. But it will be a man or woman with no known history. If, however, you ask me to explain where this materialised form comes from, I cannot. Nor can I tell you where the atoms and molecules that make up its tissues come from. I am about to produce the phenomenon. If anyone can explain it to me afterward, I will be very grateful.... That is all I have to say.”

He resumed his seat, half turning his back on the assembly, and paused for a moment before beginning his task.

He sat down again, half turning his back on the gathering. He paused for a moment before starting his task.

It was precisely at this minute that the manservant opened the door and announced in a subdued but distinct voice: “Mr. Maskull, Mr. Nightspore.”

At that very moment, the servant opened the door and announced in a quiet but clear voice: “Mr. Maskull, Mr. Nightspore.”

Everyone turned round. Faull rose to welcome the late arrivals. Backhouse also stood up, and stared hard at them.

Everyone turned around. Faull stood up to welcome the late arrivals. Backhouse also stood up and stared hard at them.

The two strangers remained standing by the door, which was closed quietly behind them. They seemed to be waiting for the mild sensation caused by their appearance to subside before advancing into the room. Maskull was a kind of giant, but of broader and more robust physique than most giants. He wore a full beard. His features were thick and heavy, coarsely modelled, like those of a wooden carving; but his eyes, small and black, sparkled with the fires of intelligence and audacity. His hair was short, black, and bristling. Nightspore was of middle height, but so tough-looking that he appeared to be trained out of all human frailties and susceptibilities. His hairless face seemed consumed by an intense spiritual hunger, and his eyes were wild and distant. Both men were dressed in tweeds.

The two strangers stood by the door, which closed quietly behind them. They seemed to wait for the mild stir their appearance had caused to die down before entering the room. Maskull was a kind of giant, but broader and more robust than most giants. He had a full beard. His features were thick, heavy, and roughly shaped, like those of a wooden carving. But his small black eyes sparkled with intelligence and daring. His hair was short, black, and bristling. Nightspore was of medium height, but looked so tough that he seemed trained beyond all human frailties and vulnerabilities. His hairless face seemed consumed by an intense spiritual hunger, and his eyes were wild and distant. Both men wore tweeds.

Before any words were spoken, a loud and terrible crash of falling masonry caused the assembled party to start up from their chairs in consternation. It sounded as if the entire upper part of the building had collapsed. Faull sprang to the door, and called to the servant to say what was happening. The man had to be questioned twice before he gathered what was required of him. He said he had heard nothing. In obedience to his master’s order, he went upstairs. Nothing, however, was amiss there, neither had the maids heard anything.

Before anyone spoke, a loud, terrible crash of falling masonry made everyone jump from their chairs in alarm. It sounded as if the entire upper part of the building had collapsed. Faull sprang to the door and called to the servant, asking what was happening. He had to ask twice before the man understood what he wanted. The servant said he had heard nothing. At his master’s order, he went upstairs. But nothing was wrong there, and the maids had heard nothing either.

In the meantime Backhouse, who almost alone of those assembled had preserved his sangfroid, went straight up to Nightspore, who stood gnawing his nails.

Meanwhile, Backhouse was one of the few people there who had kept calm. He went straight up to Nightspore, who stood biting his nails.

“Perhaps you can explain it, sir?”

“Maybe you can explain it, sir?”

“It was supernatural,” said Nightspore, in a harsh, muffled voice, turning away from his questioner.

“It was supernatural,” Nightspore said in a harsh, muffled voice, turning away from the person who had questioned him.

“I guessed so. It is a familiar phenomenon, but I have never heard it so loud.”

“I thought so. It's common, but I've never heard it so loud.”

He then went among the guests, reassuring them. By degrees they settled down, but it was observable that their former easy and good-humoured interest in the proceedings was now changed to strained watchfulness. Maskull and Nightspore took the places allotted to them. Mrs. Trent kept stealing uneasy glances at them. Throughout the entire incident, Mozart’s hymn continued to be played. The orchestra also had heard nothing.

He then went among the guests, reassuring them. Gradually, they settled down. But their earlier relaxed, cheerful interest in the proceedings had visibly given way to tense watchfulness. Maskull and Nightspore took the places assigned to them. Mrs. Trent kept glancing at them uneasily. Throughout the incident, Mozart’s hymn continued to play. The orchestra had heard nothing either.

Backhouse now entered on his task. It was one that began to be familiar to him, and he had no anxiety about the result. It was not possible to effect the materialisation by mere concentration of will, or the exercise of any faculty; otherwise many people could have done what he had engaged himself to do. His nature was phenomenal—the dividing wall between himself and the spiritual world was broken in many places. Through the gaps in his mind the inhabitants of the invisible, when he summoned them, passed for a moment timidly and awfully into the solid, coloured universe.... He could not say how it was brought about.... The experience was a rough one for the body, and many such struggles would lead to insanity and early death. That is why Backhouse was stern and abrupt in his manner. The coarse, clumsy suspicion of some of the witnesses, the frivolous aestheticism of others, were equally obnoxious to his grim, bursting heart; but he was obliged to live, and, to pay his way, must put up with these impertinences.

Backhouse now began his task. It was becoming familiar to him, and he had no doubts about the result. He could not make the spirits materialize through sheer willpower or the use of any other faculty. If he could, many people would have been able to do what he had undertaken. His nature was extraordinary. The wall separating him from the spiritual world was broken in many places. When he summoned the inhabitants of the invisible world, they passed through the gaps in his mind. For a moment, they entered the solid, colored universe, timidly and fearfully.... He could not say how it happened.... The experience was hard on his body, and many such struggles would lead to insanity and an early death. That was why Backhouse was stern and abrupt. The crude, clumsy suspicion of some witnesses offended his grim, bursting heart as much as the frivolous delight in beauty of others. But he had to live, and to pay his way, he had to put up with these insults.

He sat down facing the wooden couch. His eyes remained open but seemed to look inward. His cheeks paled, and he became noticeably thinner. The spectators almost forgot to breathe. The more sensitive among them began to feel, or imagine, strange presences all around them. Maskull’s eyes glittered with anticipation, and his brows went up and down, but Nightspore appeared bored.

He sat down facing the wooden couch. His eyes stayed open, but he seemed to be looking inward. His cheeks grew pale, and he became noticeably thinner. The spectators almost forgot to breathe. The more sensitive among them began to feel, or imagine, strange presences all around them. Maskull’s eyes glittered with anticipation, and his eyebrows moved up and down. But Nightspore seemed bored.

After a long ten minutes the pedestal of the statue was seen to become slightly blurred, as though an intervening mist were rising from the ground. This slowly developed into a visible cloud, coiling hither and thither, and constantly changing shape. The professor half rose, and held his glasses with one hand further forward on the bridge of his nose.

After a long ten minutes, the statue’s pedestal began to blur slightly. It looked as if a mist were rising from the ground between them and the statue. The mist slowly grew into a visible cloud, curling this way and that and constantly changing shape. The professor half rose and used one hand to move his glasses farther down the bridge of his nose.

By slow stages the cloud acquired the dimensions and approximate outline of an adult human body, although all was still vague and blurred. It hovered lightly in the air, a foot or so above the couch. Backhouse looked haggard and ghastly. Mrs. Jameson quietly fainted in her chair, but she was unnoticed, and presently revived. The apparition now settled down upon the couch, and at the moment of doing so seemed suddenly to grow dark, solid, and manlike. Many of the guests were as pale as the medium himself, but Faull preserved his stoical apathy, and glanced once or twice at Mrs. Trent. She was staring straight at the couch, and was twisting a little lace handkerchief through the different fingers of her hand. The music went on playing.

Slowly, the cloud took on the size and rough shape of an adult human body, though it remained vague and blurred. It floated lightly about a foot above the couch. Backhouse looked haggard and deathly pale. Mrs. Jameson quietly fainted in her chair, but no one noticed, and she soon recovered. The apparition settled onto the couch. As it did, it suddenly seemed to become dark, solid, and human. Many of the guests were as pale as the medium himself, but Faull remained impassive. He glanced once or twice at Mrs. Trent. She was staring straight at the couch and twisting a small lace handkerchief through her fingers. The music continued to play.

The figure was by this time unmistakably that of a man lying down. The face focused itself into distinctness. The body was draped in a sort of shroud, but the features were those of a young man. One smooth hand fell over, nearly touching the floor, white and motionless. The weaker spirits of the company stared at the vision in sick horror; the rest were grave and perplexed. The seeming man was dead, but somehow it did not appear like a death succeeding life, but like a death preliminary to life. All felt that he might sit up at any minute.

By now, the figure was unmistakably a man lying down. His face came clearly into focus. His body was wrapped in a kind of shroud, but his features were those of a young man. One smooth hand hung down, nearly touching the floor, white and motionless. The more easily frightened people in the group stared at the vision in sick horror. The others were serious and puzzled. The figure that looked like a man was dead, but somehow his death did not seem to have followed life. It seemed instead like a death that came before life. Everyone felt that he might sit up at any moment.

“Stop that music!” muttered Backhouse, tottering from his chair and facing the party. Faull touched the bell. A few more bars sounded, and then total silence ensued.

“Stop that music!” muttered Backhouse. He staggered up from his chair and faced the group. Faull pressed the bell. The music played a few more bars, then stopped completely.

“Anyone who wants to may approach the couch,” said Backhouse with difficulty.

“Anyone who wants to can come up to the couch,” Backhouse said with difficulty.

Lang at once advanced, and stared awestruck at the supernatural youth.

Lang immediately stepped forward and stared in awe at the supernatural youth.

“You are at liberty to touch,” said the medium.

“You may touch,” said the medium.

But Lang did not venture to, nor did any of the others, who one by one stole up to the couch—until it came to Faull’s turn. He looked straight at Mrs. Trent, who seemed frightened and disgusted at the spectacle before her, and then not only touched the apparition but suddenly grasped the drooping hand in his own and gave it a powerful squeeze. Mrs. Trent gave a low scream. The ghostly visitor opened his eyes, looked at Faull strangely, and sat up on the couch. A cryptic smile started playing over his mouth. Faull looked at his hand; a feeling of intense pleasure passed through his body.

But Lang did not dare to, and neither did any of the others who crept up to the couch one by one. Then it was Faull’s turn. He looked straight at Mrs. Trent, who seemed frightened and disgusted by the sight before her. He not only touched the apparition but suddenly took its drooping hand and squeezed it hard. Mrs. Trent let out a quiet scream. The ghostly visitor opened his eyes, looked strangely at Faull, and sat up on the couch. A mysterious smile began to play on his lips. Faull looked at his hand. A feeling of intense pleasure passed through his body.

Maskull caught Mrs. Jameson in his arms; she was attacked by another spell of faintness. Mrs. Trent ran forward, and led her out of the room. Neither of them returned.

Maskull caught Mrs. Jameson in his arms as she felt faint again. Mrs. Trent hurried forward and led her out of the room. Neither of them returned.

The phantom body now stood upright, looking about him, still with his peculiar smile. Prior suddenly felt sick, and went out. The other men more or less hung together, for the sake of human society, but Nightspore paced up and down, like a man weary and impatient, while Maskull attempted to interrogate the youth. The apparition watched him with a baffling expression, but did not answer. Backhouse was sitting apart, his face buried in his hands.

The phantom stood upright now, looking around with his strange smile. Prior suddenly felt sick and went out. The other men mostly stayed together for company. But Nightspore paced up and down, like a weary, impatient man, while Maskull tried to question the youth. The apparition watched Maskull with a puzzling expression, but did not answer. Backhouse sat apart, his face buried in his hands.

It was at this moment that the door was burst open violently, and a stranger, unannounced, half leaped, half strode a few yards into the room, and then stopped. None of Faull’s friends had ever seen him before. He was a thick, shortish man, with surprising muscular development and a head far too large in proportion to his body. His beardless yellow face indicated, as a first impression, a mixture of sagacity, brutality, and humour.

At that moment, the door burst open violently. A stranger entered without warning, half leaping and half striding a few yards into the room before stopping. None of Faull’s friends had ever seen him before. He was a stocky, rather short man, with unusually large muscles and a head far too large for his body. His beardless yellow face gave an impression of wisdom, brutality, and humor.

“Aha-i, gentlemen!” he called out loudly. His voice was piercing, and oddly disagreeable to the ear. “So we have a little visitor here.”

“Aha-i, gentlemen!” he called out loudly. His voice was piercing and strangely unpleasant to hear. “So we have a little visitor here.”

Nightspore turned his back, but everyone else stared at the intruder in astonishment. He took another few steps forward, which brought him to the edge of the theatre.

Nightspore turned his back, but everyone else stared at the intruder in surprise. He took a few more steps forward and reached the edge of the theatre.

“May I ask, sir, how I come to have the honour of being your host?” asked Faull sullenly. He thought that the evening was not proceeding as smoothly as he had anticipated.

“May I ask, sir, why I have the honor of being your host?” Faull asked sullenly. He felt the evening was not going as smoothly as he had expected.

The newcomer looked at him for a second, and then broke into a great, roaring guffaw. He thumped Faull on the back playfully—but the play was rather rough, for the victim was sent staggering against the wall before he could recover his balance.

The newcomer looked at him for a second, then burst into loud, roaring laughter. He playfully thumped Faull on the back. But he was rather rough, and Faull staggered against the wall before he could regain his balance.

“Good evening, my host!”

“Good evening, host!”

“And good evening to you too, my lad!” he went on, addressing the supernatural youth, who was now beginning to wander about the room, in apparent unconsciousness of his surroundings. “I have seen someone very like you before, I think.”

“And good evening to you too, my lad!” he continued, addressing the supernatural youth. The youth was beginning to wander around the room, apparently unaware of his surroundings. “I think I’ve seen someone very like you before.”

There was no response.

There was no response.

The intruder thrust his head almost up to the phantom’s face. “You have no right here, as you know.”

The intruder pushed his face almost up to the phantom’s. “You have no right to be here, and you know it.”

The shape looked back at him with a smile full of significance, which, however, no one could understand.

The shape looked back at him with a meaningful smile. But no one could understand what the smile meant.

“Be careful what you are doing,” said Backhouse quickly.

“Be careful what you’re doing,” said Backhouse quickly.

“What’s the matter, spirit usher?”

“What’s the matter, spirit usher?”

“I don’t know who you are, but if you use physical violence toward that, as you seem inclined to do, the consequences may prove very unpleasant.”

“I don’t know who you are, but you seem ready to use force against that. If you do, the consequences may be very unpleasant.”

“And without pleasure our evening would be spoiled, wouldn’t it, my little mercenary friend?”

“And without pleasure, our evening would be ruined, wouldn’t it, my little mercenary friend?”

Humour vanished from his face, like sunlight from a landscape, leaving it hard and rocky. Before anyone realised what he was doing, he encircled the soft, white neck of the materialised shape with his hairy hands and, with a double turn, twisted it completely round. A faint, unearthly shriek sounded, and the body fell in a heap to the floor. Its face was uppermost. The guests were unutterably shocked to observe that its expression had changed from the mysterious but fascinating smile to a vulgar, sordid, bestial grin, which cast a cold shadow of moral nastiness into every heart. The transformation was accompanied by a sickening stench of the graveyard.

Humor vanished from his face like sunlight from a landscape, leaving it hard and rocky. Before anyone realized what he was doing, he wrapped his hairy hands around the materialized figure’s soft, white neck. With two turns, he twisted it completely around. A faint, unearthly shriek sounded, and the body fell in a heap to the floor, its face turned upward. The guests were utterly shocked to see that its mysterious but fascinating smile had changed. It was now a vulgar, sordid, animal-like grin that cast a cold shadow of moral ugliness into every heart. The change was accompanied by the sickening stench of a graveyard.

The features faded rapidly away, the body lost its consistence, passing from the solid to the shadowy condition, and, before two minutes had elapsed, the spirit-form had entirely disappeared.

The features quickly faded, and the body lost its solidity, becoming shadowy. In less than two minutes, the spirit-form had completely disappeared.

The short stranger turned and confronted the party, with a long, loud laugh, like nothing in nature.

The short stranger turned to face the group, laughing long and loudly, with a sound unlike anything in nature.

The professor talked excitedly to Kent-Smith in low tones. Faull beckoned Backhouse behind a wing of scenery, and handed him his check without a word. The medium put it in his pocket, buttoned his coat, and walked out of the room. Lang followed him, in order to get a drink.

The professor spoke excitedly to Kent-Smith in a low voice. Faull beckoned Backhouse behind a piece of scenery and handed him his check without a word. The medium put it in his pocket, buttoned his coat, and left the room. Lang followed him to get a drink.

The stranger poked his face up into Maskull’s.

The stranger thrust his face up close to Maskull’s.

“Well, giant, what do you think of it all? Wouldn’t you like to see the land where this sort of fruit grows wild?”

“Well, giant, what do you think of it all? Wouldn’t you like to see the land where this kind of fruit grows wild?”

“What sort of fruit?”

“What kind of fruit?”

“That specimen goblin.”

“That specimen goblin.”

Maskull waved him away with his huge hand. “Who are you, and how did you come here?”

Maskull waved him away with his huge hand. “Who are you, and how did you get here?”

“Call up your friend. Perhaps he may recognise me.” Nightspore had moved a chair to the fire, and was watching the embers with a set, fanatical expression.

“Call your friend. Perhaps he may recognize me.” Nightspore had moved a chair to the fire. He watched the embers with a fixed, fanatical expression.

“Let Krag come to me, if he wants me,” he said, in his strange voice.

“Let Krag come to me if he wants me,” he said in his strange voice.

“You see, he does know me,” uttered Krag, with a humorous look. Walking over to Nightspore, he put a hand on the back of his chair.

“You see, he does know me,” said Krag with an amused look. He walked over to Nightspore and put a hand on the back of his chair.

“Still the same old gnawing hunger?”

“Still the same old gnawing hunger?”

“What is doing these days?” demanded Nightspore disdainfully, without altering his attitude.

“What’s happening these days?” Nightspore demanded disdainfully, without changing his posture.

“Surtur has gone, and we are to follow him.”

“Surtur has gone, and we must follow him.”

“How do you two come to know each other, and of whom are you speaking?” asked Maskull, looking from one to the other in perplexity.

“How do you two know each other, and who are you talking about?” Maskull asked, looking from one to the other in confusion.

“Krag has something for us. Let us go outside,” replied Nightspore. He got up, and glanced over his shoulder. Maskull, following the direction of his eye, observed that the few remaining men were watching their little group attentively.

“Krag has something for us. Let’s go outside,” replied Nightspore. He got up and glanced over his shoulder. Maskull followed his gaze and saw that the few remaining men were watching their small group closely.