“Yes.”
The soft curves of her body were quickly withdrawn from him.
“Oh,” she whispered, “I don’t believe I want to see her.”
For a moment she stood motionless. Then she said:
“Are you sorry you kissed me?”
“No,” he answered, “I am not.”
Her lips brushed his forehead, and he was alone. Groping with one hand, he assured himself that the panel remained open. All in black, he awaited the signal.
And now strange manifestations began in the room without. There were rappings, some faint, some loud—coming apparently from all quarters. Invisible fingers swept gently across the strings of a guitar. Then came the soft clangor of a gong—once, twice, three times.
Orme slipped through the panel, into the cabinet. Keeping close to the wall, he moved to the left and worked out into the room. The rappings were now louder than before—loud and continuous enough to cover any slight sound he might make. A little gasp came from the circle as he went out into the room. At first he thought that he had been seen. To his eyes, fresh from complete darkness, the room seemed moderately light; but the gas was little more than a tiny blue dot.
As he took a step forward he saw why the circle had gasped. Through the curtains of the cabinet came the semblance of a tenuous wraith in long, trailing robes of white. It was almost formless, its outlines seeming to melt into the gloom.