Dated the 10th day of November.
(Signed) B. J. Withers.
On the same afternoon Mailey called upon Malone and they sat in consultation over this document. Then they went together to see Summerway Jones, an acute solicitor and an earnest student of psychic affairs. Incidentally, he was a hard rider to hounds, a good boxer, and a man who carried a fresh-air flavour into the mustiest law chambers. He arched his eyebrows over the summons.
“The poor devil has not an earthly!” said he. “He’s lucky to have a summons. Usually they act on a warrant. Then the man is carted right off, kept in the cells all night, and tried next morning with no one to defend him. The police are cute enough, of course, to choose either a Roman Catholic or a materialist as the magistrate. Then, by the beautiful judgment of Chief Justice Lawrence—the first judgment, I believe, that he delivered in that high capacity—the profession of mediumship or wonder-working is in itself a legal crime, whether it be genuine or no, so that no defence founded upon good results has a look in. It’s a mixture of religious persecution and police blackmail. As to the public they don’t care a damn! Why should they? If they don’t want their fortune told, they don’t go. The whole thing is the most absolute bilge and a disgrace to our legislature.”
“I’ll write it up,” said Malone, glowing with Celtic fire. “What do you call the Act?”
“Well, there are two Acts, each more putrid than the other, and both passed long before Spiritualism was ever heard of. There is the Witchcraft Act dating from George the Second. That has become too absurd, so they only use it as a second string. Then there is the Vagrancy Act of 1824. It was passed to control the wandering gipsy folk on the roadside, and was never intended, of course, to be used like this.” He hunted among his papers. “Here is the beastly thing. ‘Every person professing to tell fortunes or using any subtle craft, means or device to deceive and impose on any of His Majesty’s subjects shall be deemed a rogue and a vagabond,’ and so on and so forth. The two Acts together would have roped in the whole Early Christian movement just as surely as the Roman persecution did.”
“Lucky there are no lions now,” said Malone.
“Jackasses!” cried Mailey. “That’s the modern substitute. But what are we to do?”
“I’m damned if I know!” said the solicitor, scratching his head. “It’s perfectly hopeless!”
“Oh, dash it all!” cried Malone, “we can’t give it up so easily. We know the man is an honest man.”
Mailey turned and grasped Malone’s hand.