Part 28 (1/2)

We see him come in here.”

”I told you he wasn't here. If you don't believe me, why don't you call the cops.”

”We not want cops. I come in and watch.”

”But I'm going to hold a circle here in a few minutes.”

”What?” Arima's voice had a puzzled note.

”A seance. The spirits come. You know. All sit around, with the light turned down, and spirits come.”

”Oh!” The j.a.panese either understood or pretended to. ”I come, then.”

After a period of hesitation the woman said: ”Why, yes, I guess you can--if you keep still. Your friend can come, too. You're a neighbor, and I won't charge you anything.”

”All right. I call my friend.” Footsteps crossed the room and the door to the hall was opened. Presently it closed again, and Orme heard fragments of a conversation in j.a.panese.

From other sounds Orme gathered that the woman was arranging chairs. ”Sit here, you two,” he heard her say. ”You'll have to keep quiet when the rest come. Do just what they do? Be sure, now.”

The bell now began to ring at frequent intervals, each time announcing the arrival of newcomers. Madame Alia's clients were quickly a.s.sembling; Orme could hear them whispering among themselves.

A clinking noise he did not at first understand. Then he realized that it was the sound of silver dropping into a hat. Someone was taking up the collection. He knew, too, when they hung the curtain across his corner of the room, shutting off the s.p.a.ce in which the medium was to sit, and when they lighted the gas and drew down the shades at the window. Then he heard them lead her into the cabinet and tie her to the chair.

The silence that followed these preparations grew oppressive. The clients were waiting for the right ”current,” and Madame Alia, Orme had no doubt, was using the interval to free herself from her bonds.

In a little while someone started the hymn, ”Over the River They Beckon to Me,” and the others took it up--women's voices, chiefly, struggling through the melody in their trebles, with the mumbled undertones of one or two men.

A draught of cooler air struck Orme's cheek; a hand found his shoulder; a voice whispered. Under cover of the singing Madame Alia had opened the panel. Her lips were close to his ear. In the creepy tension of the waiting Orme had almost forgotten that Madame Alia's ghosts were a cheat, and the touch of her hand made him start, but her first words brought him to himself.

”Hus.h.!.+” she whispered. ”You'll get your chance in a minute. Put on a pair of black felt slippers. Here”--she groped along the floor, and gave him the slippers. They were large, and went easily over his shoes.

”Now the black robe, just behind you.”

He took it from its peg, and slipped into it.

”Cover your head and face with the hood.”

He did as directed, finding the eyeholes with his fingers.

”Hide your hands in the sleeves. Now, listen. I'm going to keep them busy looking at the curtains. When you hear a gong ring three times, come through the panel, and go between the curtain and the wall-hanging, on the side toward the window. The gas is down to a pinpoint. Those folks think they can see a lot more than they do. But they won't see you, unless you show some white. Anyhow they'll be watching the cabinet. Keep outside the circle of chairs, and work your way to the door of the next room. There are hangings there; go through them. You'll find light enough in the next room to get to the door into the hall. First stuff the robe under the sofa. You'll _find_ your hat under there. You left it here when you came, and I tucked it away. You'd better wear the slippers down to the street. Never mind about returning them--unless you care to come.

Now, be careful.”

”The j.a.panese--where are they?”

”At the other side of the circle. Don't worry about them. They're only kids when it comes to my game. Now, wait till I get the things I need.”

She slipped past him in the closet, and he heard faint rustlings as she gathered her paraphernalia. Soon she was back at the panel. The last stanza of the hymn was drawing to a close. ”Be sure you follow directions,” she whispered.

”I will.” He pressed her hand gratefully.

”And--and you won't forget me.”