Suddenly, with a loud bang, something heavy fell upon the table. Releasing the hands of my fellow-investigators, I felt about for this object and found that a book had been brought and thrown upon the table. A shower of others followed, till twenty-four were piled about the cone. They came whizzing with power, yet with such precision that no head was touched and the cone remained undisturbed. It was as if some roguish poltergeist had suddenly developed in the room.
"Miller, I find this exciting!" said I, after silver fell upon the table. "Suppose we ask 'Wilbur' to fetch some small object whose position you know."
Mrs. Miller then said: "There is a box of candy on a shelf back of Mrs. Smiley. It is quite out of her reach. Can you bring that to me, 'Wilbur'?"
Tap, tap, tap! was the decided answer, and almost immediately the box was placed on the top of the table and shoved along toward Mrs. Miller.
"That's a good demonstration," I remarked, and 'Wilbur' drummed a sharp tattoo of satisfaction.
At my request he then wrote his name on a pad while Miller waited and listened, his mind too busy with surmise to permit of speech. (He told me afterward that he was perfectly sure the psychic had wrenched free of her tacks and he was wondering how she would contrive to put herself back again.)
Finally I asked: "Are you still with us, 'Wilbur'?"
The force tapped smartly on the tin.
"Now, just to show you that the psychic is not doing this, can't you hold up a book between me and the light? I want to see your hand."
Instantly, and to my profound amazement, a book rose in the air, and I could see two hands in silhouette plainly and vigorously thumbing the volume, which was held about three feet above the table, and to the psychic's left.