“I told Reid not to ring,” he said, “for fear that Frank should hear. I will let him in.”
He left the room, and in another moment came back with the medium, a small, perfectly commonplace looking man, smug and prosperous. Then I met his eyes and thought him commonplace no longer. They seemed to look out and through and beyond.
In a few minutes Roupert, who had often sat with Reid before, explained what was wanted. He told him that we wished to know if the spirit of Frank Hampden was about, and, if so, whether we could communicate with it, or see it. That was all.
Reid asked only one question.
“Has Frank Hampden’s spirit been long out of his body?” he said.
Roupert hesitated for a moment.
“I believe it to have been out of his body for about two months,” he answered.
The electric light was put out, but the glow from the fire was bright enough to make a red twilight in the room. I could clearly see the profile of the medium, black against that illumination, the back of the chair in which he sat, the full face of Roupert, glints of reflected light on the glass of pictures, and, with perfect distinctness, Fifi, who had curled herself up on the hearthrug. Almost immediately the medium went into trance, and I saw his head bowed over his chest, and heard his breathing, which had been short and panting, as he passed into unconsciousness, grow quiet again. How long we sat there in silence, without anything supernormal occurring, I do not know, but it appeared to me not to be many minutes before a very loud rap sounded from the table, which began to quiver under our hands. Then Roupert asked:
“Is the spirit of Frank Hampden here?”
There was the assent of three raps.