“I claim that the existence of this matter is proved,” Vernon concluded. “Given favourable conditions, the medium can build up a form, visible, tangible, ponderable and capable of simulating every appearance of material reality. I don’t say that this amazing phenomenon proves the immortality of the soul, but I do say that until you produce another hypothesis to cover the immense accumulation of tested facts, you have no right to pronounce any opinion in psychical research.”
By this time the moon, now pale as scoured brass, had topped the trees behind the house, and was sending out pale and slender shafts of light to pierce here and there the overshadowing gloom of the wide cedar: one shaft had dappled the statuesque bare shoulder of Lady Ulrica, and another had slanted down upon the smooth fair hair of Leslie Vernon. And by such reflections and by other sources of faint diffusion, the heavy brooding darkness that had so far enveloped the group on the lawn, had been definitely lifted. Dimly they could see each other, either as shadows against the increasing brightness beyond, or as weakly illuminated figures picked out, maybe, by a brilliant little spark of moonshine that had pierced its way through some common opening in the many-storied foliage above.
And although there had come no least stir of wind to break the intense calm, the releasing effect of the light was manifest upon the spirits of the party. As Vernon ceased speaking everyone suddenly wanted to talk. A little fusillade of chatter broke out, which only gave way when Greatorex was heard saying: “If he believe not Stainton Moses and the Lodges, neither will he believe though one rose from the dead.”
Mrs. Harrison laughed brightly. “We must remember that,” she said.
“But it’s not a question of rising from the dead at all, Mr. Greatorex,” Lady Ulrica put in. She had no sense of humour.
Vernon apparently felt that all the effect of his long argument was being foolishly dissipated by this absurd interruption. “Well, Harrison, what’s your answer to my case?” he asked in a slightly raised voice.
Harrison began to stammer, a sure sign that his temper was at last beginning to conquer him. “I—I can’t see, even if we admit the validity of these materialisations,” he said, “that you—you are any nearer to proving your general case, Vernon. I’ve been into the whole question very thoroughly and—and impartially, and I can only say that I see no reason whatever to assume that we have ever received any communication from the spirits of the dead. I think that that is the real point under discussion, and I can’t see that you’ve done much to support your contention. What d’you say, G.?”
Greatorex grunted. A beam of moonlight had just caught the most salient of his features, and at the moment his face appeared to be all nose.
“You won’t accept my explanation of the facts, Harrison?” Vernon persisted.
“I—I don’t see why I should,” Harrison replied. “I don’t see the necessity for it. I—I’m not convinced, by any means, of the validity of your examples. At present, I am content to go on with the enquiry without formulating any theory. I contend that the evidence up to the present time is insufficient to theorise upon.”