When the faithful servant had entered the bedroom Gaylor turned to Rainey.
“When do these mediums come today?” he asked.
Rainey stared sulkily at the floor.
“I think they’re here now—downstairs,” he answered. “Garrett generally hides them there till you’re out of the house.”
“Indeed,” commented Gaylor dryly. “After Winthrop and Miss Coates have gone, I want to talk with your friends.”
“Now, see here, Judge,” whined Rainey; “don’t make trouble. It isn’t as bad as you think. The old man’s only investigating—”
“Hush!” commanded the Judge.
From the bedroom, leaning on the butler’s arm, Stephen Hallowell came stumbling toward them and, with a sigh, sank into an invalid’s chair that was placed for him between the fire and the long library table.. He was a very feeble, very old man, with a white face, and thin, white hair, but with a mouth and lower jaw as hard and uncompromising as those of a skull. His eyes, which were strangely brilliant and young-looking, peered suspiciously from under ragged white eyebrows. But when they fell upon the doctor, the eyes became suddenly credulous, pleading, filled with self-pity.
“I’m a very sick man, Doctor,” said Mr. Hallowell.
Judge Gaylor bustled forward cheerily. “Nonsense, Stephen, nonsense,” he cried; “you look a different man this morning. Doesn’t he, Doctor?”