“Go away, Silas!” “Blast you, Silas!” “Get out of this!” “We don’t want to talk to you, we want Louise!” An angry chorus rose from Matthews, Price, and the rest of the interested spectators. Silas had a nasty habit of butting in where he was not wanted—always at crucial and exciting points—and was unpopular.
But Silas would not go. He asserted Louise was in his charge. He would not tolerate these conversations with doubtful characters. Tony could go to hell for all he cared. He didn’t care two whoops if it was a scientific experiment—and so forth, and so on.
“One more question,” pleaded poor Tony, “and if she gets this right I must believe. How does she pronounce the French word for ‘yes’?”
This question, if genuine, again gave a clue to the answer. For it showed she did not pronounce it in the ordinary way. And I felt pretty certain the question was genuine. When a sitter is setting a trap his voice usually betrays him. It is either toneless, or the sham excitement in it is exaggerated. Tony’s voice was just right. So I decided quickly not to fence, but to risk an answer. The most probable change would be a V for the W sound, or the W sound would be entirely omitted. There was therefore a choice of three sounds, “Ee,” “Vee,” and “Evee.” The problem was to give the questioner, without his realizing it, a choice of all three sounds in one answer—he would be sure to choose the one he was expecting.
The glass wrote “E” and paused. Tony beside me was breathing heavily. I gave him plenty of time to say “That’s right,” but as he didn’t the glass went on—
“V-E-E.” He could now choose between Vee and Evee.
“Evee!” said Tony. “That’s it exactly! Ye gods, she always said it that funny way—evee, evee!” He began to talk excitedly.
After the séance, Tony took me apart and declared he had never seen anything so wonderful in his life. He told me the whole story of Louise. How they rode together along the long straight road near Cairo; how it was full moon, and there was an avenue of lebbak trees through which the silver light filtered down; and how at the end of the ride they parted. I don’t think anybody else was privileged to hear the whole story, but next day he told everybody interested that as soon as he came into the room the blessed glass said “Hello, Tony! I’m Louise.” If the reader will turn back a page or two he will see this is another instance of bad observation. The Spook said, “I’m Louise,” at which “Antony” started; and only then did the Spook say, “Hello, Tony!” The startled movement which provided the link was forgotten, and the simple inversion of Tony’s memory—putting “Hello, Tony!” before “I’m Louise,” instead of after it—made it impossible for the outsider to discover the fraud. With the lapse of a little time, his memory played him further tricks. A month later he was convinced the Spook had told him the whole story straight off, with all the details he gave me afterwards in his room. This was all very helpful, from one who had been a strenuous unbeliever. And a poor, overworked medium saw no reason to correct him.
Eighteen months later I sat, a free man, in Ramleh Casino at Alexandria. Opposite me, at the other side of the small round table, was one of the Yozgad converts to spiritualism. I had just told him all our work had been fraudulent, and had quoted the Tony-Louise story to show how it was done.
The Convert thought a moment.