The theory of sea-born commerce with the world of spirits I leave to Sir Roland Skoyle and his fellow experts. My own reason for referring back to birth and parentage is merely that when the medium had entered into her trance she no longer spoke that rich broth of a language formed from two which was natural to her; but acquired an accent and a mode of delivery entirely different; the accent having in it a faint touch of the Teutonic, the delivery formal, well-bred, and courtly; even when the speech was colloquial there was about it a touch of dignity. And while she so spoke, in a manly voice, the little woman sat with an air like one enthroned.
The Prime Minister sat jauntily, thumbs in waistcoat, and listened as one interested and amused, but not as yet convinced. To Mr. Trimblerigg he said chirpily, ‘If the other side got wind of this, and used it properly, they could drive me out of office.’
‘That makes it all the more of an adventure,’ replied Mr. Trimblerigg. ‘I should be in trouble too. The Free Evangelical Church has pronounced against—well, this sort of thing altogether: “Comes of evil”.’
Sir Roland said, ‘In a year’s time we shall have the whole world converted.’ But Sir Roland was always saying that. Still, table-turning and its accompaniments had certainly received a great impetus since the War; for which reason Mr. Trimblerigg took a friendly view of it.
The medium’s first remark in her changed manner was sufficiently startling and to the point:
‘Where is my crown?... Put it on.’
Sir Roland resourcefully picked up a small paper-weight, on which a brass lion sat regardant, and deposited it precariously on the medium’s hair.
‘Who’ve you got here? Not Eliza, I hope?’ said the Voice.
Sir Roland, in a tone of marked deference, gave the names of the company. Two of them were graciously recognized. ‘Mr. Trimblerigg? We have not had the pleasure of meeting him before. How do you do, Mr. Trimblerigg?’
Mr. Trimblerigg, at a gesture from Sir Roland, bowed over the hand the medium had graciously extended.