III
At midnight, shortly after we reached home, Sperry called me on the phone. “Be careful, Horace,” he said. “Don’t let Mrs. Horace think anything has happened. I want to see you at once. Suppose you say I have a patient in a bad way, and a will to be drawn.”
I listened to sounds from upstairs. I heard my wife go into her room and close the door.
“Tell me something about it,” I urged.
“Just this. Arthur Wells killed himself tonight, shot himself in the head. I want you to go there with me.”
“Arthur Wells!”
“Yes. I say, Horace, did you happen to notice the time the seance began tonight?”
“It was five minutes after nine when my watch fell.”
“Then it would have been about half past when the trance began?”
“Yes.”