Everybody had risen from necessity; chairs were pushed back, skirts drawn aside as the heavy table, staggering, lurching, moved out across the floor; and they all followed, striving to keep their finger-tips on the top.
Portlaw was speechless; Shiela pale, tremulous, bewildered; Tressilvain's beady eyes shone like the eyes of a surprised rat; but his wife and Malcourt took it calmly.
"The game is," said Malcourt, "to ask whether there is a spirit present, and then recite the alphabet. Shall I?... It isn't frightening you, is it, Shiela?"
"No.... But I don't understand why it moves."
"Neither does anybody. But you see it, feel it. Nor can anybody explain why an absurd question and reciting the alphabet sometimes results in a coherent message. Shall I try it, Helen?"
His sister nodded indifferently.
There was a silence, then Malcourt, still standing, said quietly:
"Is there a message?"
From the deep, woody centre of the table three loud knocks sounded—almost ripped out, and the table quivered in every fibre.
"Is there a message for anybody present?"