Part 38 (1/2)
CHAPTER XV
MARIGNY THE MEDIUM
The journey ended at the rooms of Marigny, the psychic recommended by w.i.l.l.y Hanlon.
As Fibsy, his bright eyes wide with wonder, found himself in the unmistakable surroundings of dingy draperies, a curtained cabinet and an odor of burning incense, he exclaimed to himself, ”Gee! a clairviant! Now for some fun!”
Aunt Abby, apparently aware of the proprieties of the occasion, seated herself, and waited patiently.
At a gesture from her, Fibsy obediently took a seat near her, and waited quietly, too.
Soon the psychic entered. He was robed in a long, black garment, and wore a heavy, white turban, swathed in folds. His face was olive-colored--what was visible of it for his beard was white and flowing, and a heavy drooping moustache fell over his lips. Locks of white hair showed from the turban's edge, and a pair of big, rubber-rimmed gla.s.ses of an amber tint partially hid his eyes.
The whole make-up was false, it was clear to be seen, but a psychic has a right to disguise himself, if he choose.
Fibsy gave Marigny one quick glance and then the boy a.s.sumed an expression of face quite different from his usual one. He managed to look positively vacant-minded. His eyes became lack-l.u.s.ter, his mouth, slightly open, looked almost imbecile, and his roving glance betokened no interest whatever in the proceedings.
”Mr. Marigny?” said Miss Ames, eagerly anxious for the seance to begin.
”Yes, madam. You are three minutes late!”
”I couldn't help it--the traffic is very heavy at this hour.”
”And you should have come alone. I cannot concentrate with an alien influence in the room.”
”Oh, the boy isn't an alien influence. He's a little friend of mine--he'll do no harm.”
”I'll go out, if you say, mister,” Fibsy turned his indifferent gaze on the clairvoyant.
”You'll do nothing of the sort,” spoke up Miss Ames. ”I'm accustomed to seances, Mr. Marigny, and if you're all right--as I was told you were--a child's presence won't interfere.”
Evidently the psychic saw he had no novice to deal with, and he accepted the situation.
”What do you want to know?” he asked his client.
”Who killed Sanford Embury--or, did he kill himself. I want you to get into communication with his spirit and find out from him. But I don't want any make-believe. If you can't succeed, that's all right--I'll pay your fee just the same. But no poppyc.o.c.k.”
”That's the way to look at it, madam. I will go into the silence, and I will give you only such information as I get myself.”
The man leaned back in his chair, and gradually seemed to enter a hypnotic state. His muscles relaxed, his face became still and set, and his breathing was slow and a little labored.
Fibsy retained his vacuous look he even fidgeted a little, in a bored way--and rarely glanced toward the man of ”clear sight.”
Miss Ames, though anxious for results, was alert and quite on her guard against fraud. Experienced in fake mediums, she believed w.i.l.l.y Hanlon's a.s.sertion that this man was one of the few genuine mystics, but she proposed to judge for herself.
At last Marigny spoke. His voice was low, his tones monotonous and uninflected.
”Aunt Abby--Aunt Westminster Abbey” the words came slowly.