“Oh, no! He has been for years a student of spiritualism. And, of course, he is, as I am, a profound believer in it. He understands the best ways to conduct a séance, and mediums like to work with him for that reason, but he is not a medium himself. I am a medium—at least, I was.” She fiddled with a little pepper-pot on the table, turning it round and round. “Oh, I wish I were you!” she said suddenly.
I was astonished. “But why?” I asked.
“Well, the story is no secret if it won’t bore you. It’s known to many people already. Have you ever heard of Mr. Wentworth Holding?”
“Of course. You mean the financier and millionaire.”
“Yes. Well, he heard of my husband and of his medium, Una. I was always known as Una. I have heard it said that these hard men of business are often superstitious. I should put it that they are shrewd enough to see that there is something beyond them. Mr. Holding wrote to my husband to ask him to find out the future of a certain stock. Now that money-making kind of question is one which the spirits always dislike. As a rule they refuse to answer, or answer ambiguously. My husband did not expect much, but he gave me the question, and as soon as it was controlled my hand wrote, ‘Heavy fall in three days.’ My husband telegraphed this at once to Holding. The financier could not quite believe or quite disbelieve. He did not bear the stock, but also he did not buy it—as in his own judgment he had intended to do. The fall took place, and he sent my husband the biggest fee we have ever received, and said we should hear from him again.”
“But why does all this make you wish you were I?”
“That’s soon told. Holding has written again and wishes to engage the services of my husband and his medium exclusively. My husband has warned him that the spirits will not continue to interest themselves in his business, but he says that he does not mind that and that there are other things that interest him as much as business. The terms he offers are princely. The work would delight us both. And here comes the trouble: from the moment that I answered that question about the stock—perhaps because I answered it—I have lost power. My husband has searched London for a medium to take my place and can find none. Some of them drink, and very many of them cheat, and those who are decent and honest very often fail to get the results. And that is why I wish I were you; for I feel just as sure that you are an excellent medium as I am that you are good and above any kind of trickery. You won’t think me impertinent? I’ve always studied faces, you know.”
“But how can I be a medium? I have never done anything of the kind in my life.”
“But that does not matter—not in the very least. I am quite sure of what I say. I only wish you had some spare evenings, and wanted to make money, and could help us.”
“All my evenings are spare evenings, and I do want to make money. But I fear my help would be worth nothing.”