Delphi Complete Works of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (Illustrated) (270 page)

“Presently! Presently! All in good time,” said the woman, addressing some invisible companion. Then to the audience, “I don’t feel that the conditions are very good to-night. I will do my best and so will they. But I must talk to you first.”

And she talked. What she said seemed to the two strangers to be absolute gabble. There was no consecutive sense in it, though now and again a phrase or sentence caught the attention. Malone put his stylo in his pocket. There was no use reporting a lunatic. A Spiritualist next him saw his bewildered disgust and leaned towards him.

“She’s tuning in. She’s getting her wave length,” he whispered. “It’s all a matter of vibration. Ah, there you are!”

She had stopped in the very middle of a sentence. Her long arm and quivering forefinger shot out. She was pointing at an elderly woman in the second row.

“You! Yes, you, with the red feather. No, not you. The stout lady in front. Yes, you! There is a spirit building up behind you. It is a man. He is a tall man — six foot maybe. High forehead, eyes grey or blue, a long chin brown moustache, lines on his face. Do you recognise him, friend?”

The stout woman looked alarmed, but shook her head.

“Well, see if I can help you. He is holding up a book — brown book with a clasp. It’s a ledger same as they have in offices. I get the words ‘Caledonian Insurance’. Is that any help?”

The stout woman pursed her lips and shook her head.

“Well, I can give you a little more. He died after a long illness. I get chest trouble — asthma.”

The stout woman was still obdurate, but a small, angry, red-faced person, two places away from her, sprang to her feet.

“It’s my ‘usband, ma’m. Tell ‘im I don’t want to ‘ave any more dealin’s with him.” She sat down with decision.

“Yes, that’s right. He moves to you now. He was nearer the other. He wants to say he’s sorry. It doesn’t do, you know, to have hard feelings to the dead. Forgive and forget. It’s all over. I get a message for you. It is: ‘Do it and my blessing go with you’! Does that mean anything to you?”

The angry woman looked pleased and nodded.

“Very good.” The clairvoyante suddenly darted out her finger towards the crowd at the door “It’s for the soldier.”

A soldier in khaki, looking very much amazed, was in the front of the knot of people.

“Wot’s for me?” he asked.

“It’s a soldier. He has a corporal’s stripes. He is a big man with grizzled hair. He has a yellow tab on his shoulders. I get the initials J. H. Do you know him?”

“Yes — but he’s dead,” said the soldier.

He had not understood that it was a Spiritualistic Church, and the whole proceedings had been a mystery to him. They were rapidly explained by his neighbours. “My Gawd!” cried the soldier, and vanished amid a general titter. In the pause Malone could hear the constant mutter of the medium as she spoke to someone unseen.

“Yes, yes, wait your turn! Speak up, woman! Well, take your place near him. How should I know? Well, I will if I can.” She was like a janitor at the theatre marshalling a queue.

Her next attempt was a total failure. A solid man with bushy side-whiskers absolutely refused to have anything to do with an elderly gentleman who claimed kinship. The medium worked with admirable patience, coming back again and again with some fresh detail, but no progress could be made.

“Are you a Spiritualist, friend?”

“Yes, for ten years.”

“Well, you know there are difficulties.”

“Yes, I know that.”

“Think it over. It may come to you later. We must just leave it at that. I am only sorry for your friend.”

There was a pause during which Enid and Malone exchanged whispered confidences.

“What do you make of it, Enid?”

“I don’t know. It confuses me.”

“I believe it is half guess-work and the other half a case of confederates. These people are all of the same church, and naturally they know each other’s affairs. If they don’t know they can inquire.”

“Someone said it was Mrs. Debbs’ first visit.”

“Yes but they could easily coach her up. It is all clever quackery and bluff. It must be, for just think what is implied if it is not.”

“Telepathy, perhaps.”

“Yes, some element of that also. Listen! She is off again.”

Her next attempt was more fortunate. A lugubrious man at the back of the hall readily recognised the description and claims of his deceased wife.

“I get the name Walter.”

“Yes, that’s me.”

“She called you Wat?”

“No.”

“Well, she calls you Wat now. ‘Tell Wat to give my love to the children’. That’s how I get it. She is worrying about the children.”

“She always did.”

“Well, they don’t change. Furniture. Something about furniture. She says you gave it away. Is that right?”

“Well, I might as well.”

The audience tittered. It was strange how the most solemn and comic were eternally blended — strange and yet very natural and human.

“She has a message: ‘The man will pay up and all will be well. Be a good man, Wat, and we will be happier here then ever we were on earth’.”

The man put his hand over his eyes. As the seeress stood irresolute the tall young secretary half rose and whispered something in her ear. The woman shot a swift glance over her left shoulder in the direction of the visitors.

“I’ll come back to it,” said she.

She gave two more descriptions to the audience, both of them rather vague, and both recognised with some reservations. It was a curious fact that her details were such as she could not possibly see at the distance. Thus, dealing with a form which she claimed had built up at the far end of the hall, she could none the less give the colour of the eyes and small points of the face. Malone noted the point as one which he could use for destructive criticism. He was just jotting it down when the woman’s voice sounded louder and, looking up, he found that she had turned her head and her spectacles were flashing in his direction.

“It is not often I give a reading from the platform,” said she, her face rotating between him and the audience, “but we have friends here to-night, and it may interest them to come in contact with the spirit people. There is a presence building up behind the gentleman with a moustache — the gentleman who sits next to the young lady. Yes, sir, behind you. He is a man of middle size, rather inclined to shortness. He is old, over sixty, with white hair, curved nose and a white, small beard of the variety that is called goatee. He is no relation, I gather, but a friend. Does that suggest anyone to you, sir?”

Malone shook his head with some contempt. “It would nearly fit any old man,” he whispered to Enid.

“We will try to get a little closer. He has deep lines on his face. I should say he was an irritable man in his lifetime. He was quick and nervous in his ways. Does that help you?”

Again Malone shook his head.

“Rot! Perfect rot,” he muttered.

“Well, he seems very anxious, so we must do what we can for him. He holds up a book. It is a learned book. He opens it and I see diagrams in it. Perhaps he wrote it — or perhaps he taught from it. Yes, he nods. He taught from it. He was a teacher.”

Malone remained unresponsive.

“I don’t know that I can help him any more. Ah! there is one thing. He has a mole over his right eyebrow.”

Malone started as if he had been stung.

“One mole?” he cried.

The spectacles flashed round again.

“Two moles — one large, one small.”

“My God!” gasped Malone. “It’s Professor Summerlee!”

“Ah, you’ve got it. There’s a message: ‘Greetings to old—’ It’s a long name and begins with a C. I can’t get it. Does it mean anything?”

“Yes.”

In an instant she had turned and was describing something or someone else. But she had left a badly-shaken man upon the platform behind her.

It was at this point that the orderly service had a remarkable interruption which surprised the audience as much as it did the two visitors. This was the sudden appearance beside the chairman of a tall, pale-faced bearded man dressed like a superior artisan, who held up his hand with a quietly impressive gesture as one who was accustomed to exert authority. He then half-turned and said a word to Mr. Bolsover.

“This is Mr. Miromar of Dalston,” said the chairman. “Mr. Miromar has a message to deliver. We are always glad to hear from Mr. Miromar.”

The reporters could only get a half-view of the newcomer’s face, but both of them were struck by his noble bearing and by the massive outline of his head which promised very unusual intellectual power. His voice when he spoke rang clearly and pleasantly through the hall.

“I have been ordered to give the message wherever I think that there are ears to hear it. There are some here who are ready for it, and that is why I have come. They wish that the human race should gradually understand the situation so that there shall be the less shock or panic. I am one of several who are chosen to carry the news.”

“A lunatic, I’m afraid!” whispered Malone, scribbling hard upon his knee. There was a general inclination to smile among the audience. And yet there was something in the man’s manner and voice which made them hang on every word.

“Things have now reached a climax. The very idea of progress has been made material. It is progress to go swiftly, to send swift messages, to build new machinery. All this is a diversion of real ambition. There is only one real progress — spiritual progress. Mankind gives it a lip tribute but presses on upon its false road of material science.

“The Central Intelligence recognised that amid all the apathy there was also much honest doubt which had out-grown old creeds and had a right to fresh evidence. Therefore fresh evidence was sent — evidence which made the life after death as clear as the sun in the heavens. It was laughed at by scientists, condemned by the churches, became the butt of the newspapers, and was discarded with contempt. That was the last and greatest blunder of humanity.”

The audience had their chins up now. General speculations were beyond their mental horizon. But this was very clear to their comprehension. There was a murmur of sympathy and applause.

“The thing was now hopeless. It had got beyond all control. Therefore something sterner was needed since Heaven’s gift had been disregarded. The blow fell. Ten million young men were laid dead upon the ground. Twice as many were mutilated. That was God’s first warning to mankind. But it was vain. The same dull materialism prevailed as before. Years of grace were given, and save the stirrings of the spirit seen in such churches as these, no change was anywhere to be seen. The nations heaped up fresh loads of sin, and sin must ever be atoned for. Russia became a cesspool. Germany was unrepentant of her terrible materialism which had been the prime cause of the war. Spain and Italy were sunk in alternate atheism and superstition. France had no religious ideal. Britain was confused and distracted, full of wooden sects which had nothing of life in them. America had abused her glorious opportunities and, instead of being the loving younger brother to a stricken Europe, she held up all economic reconstruction by her money claims; she dishonoured the signature of her own president, and she refused to join that League of Peace which was the one hope of the future. All have sinned, but some more than others, and their punishment will be in exact proportion.

“And that punishment soon comes. These are the exact words I have been asked to give you. I read them lest I should in any way garble them.”

He took a slip of paper from his pocket and read:

“‘What we want is, not that folk should be frightened, but that they should begin to change themselves — to develop themselves on more spiritual lines. We are not trying to make people nervous, but to prepare while there is yet time. The world cannot go on as it has done. It would destroy itself if it did. Above all we must sweep away the dark cloud of theology which has come between mankind and God’.”

He folded up the paper and replaced it in his pocket. “That is what I have been asked to tell you. Spread the news where there seems to be a window in the soul. Say to them, ‘Repent! Reform! the Time is at hand’.”

He had paused and seemed about to turn. The spell was broken. The audience rustled and leaned back in its seats. Then a voice from the back: