‘Oh, sir, you don’t mean to tell me as you’ve heard them already!’ exclaimed Mrs Bizzey, clasping her hands and letting a teacup fall in her agitation. ‘If you go too, you’ll be the third gentleman that has left within a fortnight on that account; and if a stop ain’t put to it, the house will get such a name that nobody will put a foot inside the door for love or money.’
‘But I don’t mean to go, Mrs Bizzey; on the contrary, I should be very sorry to go; and if you and your husband will consent to help me, I will do my best to stop the noises altogether,’ for the idea of forming a little circle with these worthy people had suddenly flashed into my mind.
‘How can me and my good man help you, sir?’
‘Is Mr Bizzey at home? If so, go downstairs and fetch him up here, and I will explain what I mean to you both at the same time.’
She left the room at once, and in a few minutes returned with a dapper-looking little old fellow, in knee-breeches and a red plush waistcoat, who pulled his forelock to me on entering.
‘This is Mr Bizzey, sir, and I’ve been telling him all you say as we came up the stairs.’
I leant back in my chair, folded my hands, and looked important.
‘I suppose you must have heard the science of spiritualism mentioned?’ I commenced, grandly.
‘The science of what, sir?’ inquired Mr Bizzey, with a puzzled air.
‘Of spiritualism—i.e., the power of converse or communication with disembodied spirits.’