“You! Yes, you, with the red feather. No, not you. The stout lady in front. Yes, you! There is a spirit building up behind you. It is a man. He is a tall man—six foot maybe. High forehead, eyes grey or blue, a long chin, brown moustache, lines on his face. Do you recognise him, friend?”
The stout woman looked alarmed, but shook her head.
“Well, see if I can help you. He is holding up a book—brown book with a clasp. It’s a ledger same as they have in offices. I get the words ‘Caledonian Insurance.’ Is that any help?”
The stout woman pursed her lips and shook her head vigorously.
“Well, I can give you a little more. He died after a long illness. I get chest trouble—asthma.”
The stout woman was still obdurate, but a small, angry, red-faced person, two places away from her, sprang to her feet.
“It’s my ’usband, ma’am. Tell ’im I don’t want to ’ave any more dealin’s with him.” She sat down with decision.
“Yes, that’s right. He moves to you now. He was nearer the other. He wants to say he’s sorry. It doesn’t do, you know, to have hard feelings to the dead. Forgive and forget. It’s all over. I get a message for you. It is: ‘Do it and my blessings go with you!’ Does that mean anything to you?”
The angry woman looked pleased and nodded.
“Very good.” The clairvoyante suddenly darted out her finger towards the crowd at the door. “It’s for the soldier.”