Hammersmith." It was none other than the genial President of last Sunday's congregation. He wagged a paper accusingly at Malone, but his good-humoured face was wreathed in smiles.
"Well, well," said he. "I told you that the funny side would get you."
"Don't you think it a fair account?"
"Well, yes, Mr. Malone, I think you and the young woman have done your best for us. But, of course, you know nothing, and it all seems queer to you. Come to think of it, it would be a deal queerer if all the clever men who leave this earth could not among them find some way of getting a word back to us."
"But it's such a stupid word sometimes."
"Well, there are a lot of stupid people leave the world. They don't change. And then, you know, one never knows what sort of message is needed. We had a clergyman in to see Mrs. Debbs yesterday. He was broken-hearted because he had lost his daughter. Mrs. Debbs got several messages through that she was happy and that only his grief hurt her. 'That's no use,' said he. 'Anyone could say that. That's not my girl.' And then suddenly she said: But I wish to goodness you would not wear a Roman collar with a coloured shirt.' That sounded a trivial message, but the man began to cry. 'That's her,' he sobbed. 'She was always chipping me about my collars.' It's the little things that count in this life—just the homely, intimate things, Mr. Malone."
Malone shook his head.
"Anyone would remark on a coloured shirt and a clerical collar."
Mr. Bolsover laughed. "You're a hard proposition. So was I once, so I can't blame you. But I called here with a purpose. I expect you are a busy many and I know that I am, so I'll get down to the brass tacks. First, I wanted to say that all our people that have any sense are pleased with the article. Mr. Algernon Mailey wrote me that it would do good, and if he is pleased, we are all pleased."
"Mailey, the barrister?"
"Mailey, the religious reformer. That's how he will be known."
"Well, what else?"
"Only that we would help you if you and the young lady wanted to go further in the matter. NOt for publicity, mind you, but just for your own good—though we don't shrink from publicity, either. I have physical phenomena séances at my own home without a professional medium, and if you would like——"
"There's nothing I would like so much."
"Then you shall come—both of you. I don't have many outsiders. I wouldn't have one of those psychic research people inside my doors. Why should I go out of my way to be insulted by all their suspicions and their traps? They seem to think that folk have no feelings. But you have some ordinary common sense. That's all we ask."
"But I don't believe. Would that not stand in the way?"
"Not in the least. So long as you are fair-minded and don't disturb the conditions, all is well. Spirits out of the body don't like disagreeable people any more than spirits in the body do. Be gentle and civil, same as you would to any other company."
"Well, I can promise that."
"They are funny sometimes," said Mr. Bolsover, in a reminiscent vein. "It is as well to keep on the right side of them. They are not allowed to hurt humans, but we all do things we're not allowed to do, and they are very human themselves. You remember how The Times correspondent got his head cut open with the tambourine in one of the Davenport brother séances? Very wrong, of course, but it happened. NO friend ever got his head cut open. There was another case down Stepney way. A moneylender went to a séance. Some victim that he had driven to suicide got into the medium. He got the moneylender by the throat and it was a close thing for his life. But I'm off, Mr. Malone. We sit once a week, and have done for four years without a break. Eight o'clock Thursdays. Give us a day's notice and I'll get Mr. Mailey to meet you. He can answer questions better than I. Next Thursday! Very good." And Mr. Bolsover lurched out of the room.
Both Malone and Enid Challenger had, perhaps, been more shaken by their short experience than they had admitted, but both were sensible people who agreed that every possible natural cause should be exhausted—and very thoroughly exhausted—before the bounds of what is possible should be enlarged. Both of them had the utmost respect for the ponderous intellect of Challenger and were affected by his strong views, though Malone was compelled to admit in the frequent arguments in which he was plunged that the opinion of a clever man who has had no experience is really of less value than that of the man in the street who has actually been there.
These arguments, as often as not, were with Marvin, editor of the psychic paper Dawn, which dealt with every phase of the occult, from the lore of the Rosicrucians to the strange religions of the students of the Great Pyramid, or of those who uphold the Jewish origin of our blond Anglo-Saxons. Marvin was a small, eager man with a brain of a high order, which might have carried him to the most lucrative
