"To do that he must have left his seat."
"I am perfectly sure he did not," replied Kate, firmly.
Morton insisted. "He must have done so, Kate—there is no other explanation of what took place. It was very dark and the rug soft. There is another important point—all of the books came from within a radius of a few feet of the psychic, so that if she were able to rise and free her hands—"
"Which she did not do," answered Weissmann. "She remained precisely where we put her; but we should have nailed Clarke to the floor also."
"How about the child who spoke German?" asked Kate. "Was she—"
Weissmann replied slowly, with a little effort, "I had a little girl of the name Mina who died at eight years of age."
Kate's voice expressed sympathy. "I didn't know that. She must have been a dear. The voice was very sweet. I could almost touch the little thing."
"I do not see how Clarke or any one here knew of my daughter or her name. Clarke may be a mind-reader. The voice did not prove itself."
"Neither was 'Loggy' quite convincing," said Morton. "And yet I cannot understand how those voices were produced. Our imaginations must have been made enormously active by the dark. As scientists we cannot admit the slightest of those movements without the fall of some of our most deeply grounded dogmas. What becomes of Haeckel's dictum—that matter and spirit are inseparable?"