"I am."
The flabby lips curled in scorn. "You are one of those scientific gentlemen who know it all, aren't you?"
"I sent my card to Miss Lambert," replied Serviss, with cutting formality.
Pratt's face darkened. "I am the master of this house."
"But not of your guests, I hope."
"I have a right to know who calls, and I intend to protect Miss Lambert from such as you. You were not invited here last night."
"Not by you, I admit. I owe you an explanation for that. I came to call on Miss Lambert. Your man shouldered me into the room before I knew what was going on. I didn't intend to 'butt in,' as they say. I was afterwards invited forward by Mr. Clarke, as you will remember, and later by the 'control.'"
"Clarke is not running things here."
"Ah, but the spirits? Would you question their judgment? They insisted on making me the guest of honor, you will remember. They played to me, you may say."
Pratt was daunted by his visitor's mocking tone. "You should have had more sense of honor than to grab the medium the way you did."