Not for an instant did Vance hesitate. In tense, sepulchral tones, he demanded of the darkness, “Is the spirit of Catherine Coates present?”
The whisperings and murmurs ceased. The silence of the room was broken sharply by three quick raps. “Yes,” intoned Vance, “she is present.”
The voice of Hallowell protested fiercely. “I won’t have that! I want to see her!”
In the tone of an incantation, Vance spoke again. “Will the spirit show herself to her brother?” The raps came quickly, firmly.
“She answers she will appear before you.”
There was a moment that seemed to stretch interminably, and then, the eyes of all, straining in the darkness, saw against the black velvet curtain a splash of white.
Above the sobbing of the organ, the voice of Mr. Hallowell rang out in a sharp exclamation of terror. “Who is that!” he demanded. He spoke as though he dreaded the answer. He threw himself forward in his chair, peering into the darkness.
“Is that you, Kate?” he whispered. His voice was both incredulous and pleading.
The answer came in feeble, trembling tones. “Yes.”
The voice of Hallowell shook with eagerness. “Do you know me, your brother, Stephen?”