“Yes! Yes! I heard Wee One. She is here, right enough. I’m sure of it.”
Silence again, and then it came—such a marvel to the visitors, such a matter of course to the circle.
“Gooda evenin’!” cried a voice.
There was a burst of greeting and of welcoming laughter from the circle. They were all speaking at once. “Good evening, Wee One!” “There you are, dear!” “I knew you would come!” “Well done, little girl guide!”
“Gooda evenin’, all!” replied the voice. “Wee One so glad see Daddy and Mummy and the rest. Oh, what a big man with beard! Mailey, Mister Mailey, I meet him before. He big Mailey, I little femaley. Glad see you, Mr. Big Man.”
Enid and Malone listened with amazement, but it was impossible to be nervous in face of the perfectly natural way in which the company accepted it. The voice was very thin and high—more so than any artificial falsetto could produce. It was the voice of a female child. That was certain. Also that there was no female child in the room unless one had been smuggled in after the light went out. That was possible. But the voice seemed to be in the middle of the table. How could a child get there?
“Easy get there, Mr. Gentleman,” said the voice, answering his unspoken thought. “Daddy strong man. Daddy lift Wee One on to table. Now I show what Daddy not able to do.”
“The trumpet’s up!” cried Bolsover.
The little circle of luminous paint rose noiselessly into the air. Now it was swaying above their heads.
“Go up and hit the ceiling!” cried Bolsover.