On a March evening, at eight o’clock, Backhouse, the medium—a fast-
rising star in the world—was into the study at Prolands,
the Hampstead of Montague Faull. The room was only
by the light of a fire. The host, him with indolent
curiosity, got up, and the were exchanged.
Having an easy chair the fire to his guest, the South
American merchant again into his own. The electric light was
switched on. Faull’s prominent, clear-cut features, metallic-looking
skin, and air of impassiveness, did not to
impress the medium, who was to men from a special
angle. Backhouse, on the contrary, was a to the merchant. As he
tranquilly him through closed and the of a
cigar, he how this little, person with the pointed
beard to so fresh and in appearance, in view of
the nature of his occupation.
“Do you smoke?” Faull, by way of starting the conversation. “No?
Then will you take a drink?”
“Not at present, I thank you.”
A pause.
“Everything is satisfactory? The will take place?”
“I see no to it.”
“That’s good, for I would not like my guests to be disappointed. I have
your check out in my pocket.”
“Afterward will do well.”
“Nine o’clock was the time specified, I believe?”
“I so.”
The to flag. Faull in his chair, and
remained apathetic.
“Would you to what I have made?”
“I am that any are necessary, chairs for your guests.”
“I the of the room, the music, and so forth.”
Backhouse at his host. “But this is not a theatrical
performance.”
“That’s correct. Perhaps I ought to explain.... There will be ladies
present, and ladies, you know, are inclined.”
“In that case I have no objection. I only they will the
performance to the end.”
He spoke dryly.
“Well, that’s all right, then,” said Faull. Flicking his cigar into the
fire, he got up and helped himself to whisky.
“Will you come and see the room?”
“Thank you, no. I to have nothing to do with it till the time
arrives.”
“Then let’s go to see my sister, Mrs. Jameson, who is in the drawing
room. She sometimes me the to act as my hostess, as I am
unmarried.”
“I will be delighted,” said Backhouse coldly.
They the lady alone, by the open in a pensive
attitude. She had been playing Scriabin and was overcome. The medium
took in her small, tight, and porcelain-like hands,
and how Faull came by such a sister. She him bravely,
with just a of emotion. He was used to such at
the hands of the sex, and well how to respond to them.
“What me,” she whispered, after ten minutes of graceful,
hollow conversation, “is, if you must know it, not so much the
manifestation itself—though that will surely be wonderful—as your
assurance that it will take place. Tell me the of your
confidence.”
“I with open eyes,” he answered, looking around at the door, “and
others see my dreams. That is all.”
“But that’s beautiful,” Mrs. Jameson. She rather
absently, for the guest had just entered.
It was Kent-Smith, the ex-magistrate, for his judicial
humour, which, however, he had the good not to attempt to carry
into private life. Although well on the of seventy, his eyes
were still bright. With the skill of an old
man, he settled himself in the most of many
comfortable chairs.
“So we are to see tonight?”
“Fresh material for your autobiography,” Faull.
“Ah, you should not have mentioned my book. An old public
servant is himself in his retirement, Mr. Backhouse. You
have no for alarm—I have in the of discretion.”
“I am not alarmed. There can be no possible to your publishing
whatever you please.”
“You are most kind,” said the old man, with a smile.
“Trent is not tonight,” Mrs. Jameson, a curious
little at her brother.
“I he would. It’s not in his line.”
“Mrs. Trent, you must understand,” she on, the ex-
magistrate, “has us all under a of gratitude. She has
decorated the old most beautifully, and has secured
the services of the little orchestra.”
“But this is Roman magnificence.”
“Backhouse thinks the should be with more deference,”
laughed Faull.
“Surely, Mr. Backhouse—a environment...”
“Pardon me. I am a man, and always to to
elemental simplicity. I no opposition, but I my opinion.
Nature is one thing, and art is another.”
“And I am not sure that I don’t agree with you,” said the ex-magistrate.
“An occasion like this ought to be simple, to against the
possibility of deception—if you will my bluntness, Mr.
Backhouse.”
“We shall in full light,” Backhouse, “and every opportunity
will be to all to the room. I shall also ask you to submit
me to a personal examination.”
A embarrassed followed. It was by the of
two more guests, who entered together. These were Prior, the prosperous
City coffee importer, and Lang, the stockjobber, well in his own
circle as an prestidigitator. Backhouse was acquainted
with the latter. Prior, the room with the of wine
and tobacco smoke, to an of into
the proceedings. Finding that no one his efforts, however, he
shortly and to the water on the walls.
Lang, tall, thin, and bald, said little, but at Backhouse
a good deal.
Coffee, liqueurs, and cigarettes were now in. Everyone partook,
except Lang and the medium. At the same moment, Professor Halbart was
announced. He was the psychologist, the author and on
crime, insanity, genius, and so forth, in their mental
aspects. His presence at such a the other
guests, but all as if the object of their meeting had immediately
acquired additional solemnity. He was small, meagre-looking, and mild in
manner, but was the most stubborn-brained of all that mixed
company. Completely the medium, he at once sat beside
Kent-Smith, with he to remarks.
At a minutes past the hour Mrs. Trent entered,
unannounced. She was a woman of about twenty-eight. She had a white,
demure, face, black hair, and so and full
that they to be with blood. Her tall, was
most attired. Kisses were her and Mrs.
Jameson. She to the of the assembly, and a glance
and a at Faull. The gave her a look, and Backhouse,
who nothing, saw the in the of
his eye. She the that was offered her, and Faull
proposed that, as had now arrived, they should to the
lounge hall.
Mrs. Trent up a palm. “Did you, or did you not, give me
carte blanche, Montague?”
“Of I did,” said Faull, laughing. “But what’s the matter?”
“Perhaps I have been presumptuous. I don’t know. I have a
couple of friends to join us. No, no one them.... The two most
extraordinary you saw. And mediums, I am sure.”
“It very mysterious. Who are these conspirators?”
“At least tell us their names, you girl,” put in Mrs. Jameson.
“One in the name of Maskull, and the other in that of
Nightspore. That’s nearly all that I know about them, so don’t overwhelm
me with any more questions.”
“But where did you them up? You must have them up
somewhere.”
“But this is a cross-examination. Have I against convention? I
swear I will tell you not another word about them. They will be here
directly, and then I will deliver them to your mercy.”
“I don’t know them,” said Faull, “and nobody else to, but, of
course, we will all be very pleased to have them.... Shall we wait, or
what?”
“I said nine, and it’s past that now. It’s possible they may not
turn up after all.... Anyway, don’t wait.”
“I would to start at once,” said Backhouse.
The lounge, a room, long by twenty wide, had been
divided for the occasion into two equal parts by a curtain
drawn across the middle. The end was thus concealed. The nearer half
had been into an by a of armchairs. There
was no other furniture. A large fire was along the wall,
between the and the door. The room was by
electric lamps. A the floor.
Having settled his guests in their seats, Faull up to the
curtain and it aside. A replica, or nearly so, of the Drury Lane
presentation of the temple in The Magic Flute was then to
view: the gloomy, of the interior, the sky
above it in the background, and, against the latter, the
gigantic seated of the Pharaoh. A wooden
couch the of the statue. Near the curtain, obliquely
placed to the auditorium, was a plain armchair, for the use of the
medium.
Many of those present privately that the setting was quite
inappropriate to the occasion and of
ostentation. Backhouse in particular put out. The usual
compliments, however, were on Mrs. Trent as the of so
remarkable a theatre. Faull his friends to step and
examine the as as they might desire. Prior and Lang
were the only ones to accept. The about among the
pasteboard scenery, to himself and occasionally a part
of it with his knuckles. Lang, who was in his element, the rest
of his party and a patient, search, on his own
account, for apparatus. Faull and Mrs. Trent in a of
the temple, talking together in low tones; while Mrs. Jameson,
pretending to Backhouse in conversation, them as only a
deeply woman how to watch.
Lang, to his own disgust, having failed to anything of a suspicious
nature, the medium now that his own should be
searched.
“All these are needless and the in hand,
as you will see for yourselves. My demands,
however, that other people who are not present would not be able to say
afterward that has been to.”
To Lang again the of pockets and
sleeves. Within a minutes he himself satisfied that
nothing was in Backhouse’s possession. The guests reseated
themselves. Faull ordered two more chairs to be for Mrs. Trent’s
friends, who, however, had not yet arrived. He then pressed an electric
bell, and took his own seat.
The was for the to playing. A of
surprise passed through the audience as, without previous warning, the
beautiful and of Mozart’s “temple” music pulsated through
the air. The of was raised, while, her
pallor and composure, it be that Mrs. Trent was moved.
It was that she was by the most important
person present. Faull her, with his on his chest,
sprawling as usual.
Backhouse up, with one hand on the of his chair, and began
speaking. The music to pianissimo, and so for as
long as he was on his legs.
“Ladies and gentlemen, you are about to a materialisation. That
means you will see something appear in space that was not previously
there. At it will appear as a form, but it will
be a solid body, which anyone present may and handle—and, for
example, shake hands with. For this will be in the shape. It
will be a man or woman—which, I can’t say—but a man or woman
without antecedents. If, however, you from me an
explanation of the of this form—where it comes from,
whence the and its are derived—I am
unable to satisfy you. I am about to produce the phenomenon; if anyone
can it to me afterward, I shall be very grateful.... That is all
I have to say.”
He his seat, his on the assembly, and paused
for a moment his task.
It was at this minute that the opened the door and
announced in a but voice: “Mr. Maskull, Mr.
Nightspore.”
Everyone round. Faull rose to welcome the late arrivals.
Backhouse also up, and hard at them.
The two by the door, which was closed
quietly them. They to be waiting for the mild sensation
caused by their to into the room.
Maskull was a of giant, but of and more physique
than most giants. He a full beard. His were thick and
heavy, modelled, like those of a carving; but his eyes,
small and black, with the of and audacity.
His was short, black, and bristling. Nightspore was of middle
height, but so tough-looking that he appeared to be out of all
human and susceptibilities. His consumed
by an hunger, and his were wild and distant. Both
men were in tweeds.
Before any were spoken, a loud and terrible crash of falling
masonry the assembled party to start up from their chairs in
consternation. It as if the entire upper part of the building
had collapsed. Faull to the door, and called to the to
say what was happening. The man had to be questioned twice he
gathered what was of him. He said he had nothing. In
obedience to his master’s order, he upstairs. Nothing, however, was
amiss there, neither had the anything.
In the meantime Backhouse, who almost alone of those assembled had
preserved his sangfroid, up to Nightspore, who stood
gnawing his nails.
“Perhaps you can it, sir?”
“It was supernatural,” said Nightspore, in a harsh, voice,
turning away from his questioner.
“I so. It is a familiar phenomenon, but I have it so
loud.”
He then among the guests, them. By they settled
down, but it was that their easy and good-humoured
interest in the was now to watchfulness.
Maskull and Nightspore took the places to them. Mrs. Trent kept
stealing at them. Throughout the entire incident,
Mozart’s to be played. The also had heard
nothing.
Backhouse now entered on his task. It was one that to be familiar
to him, and he had no about the result. It was not possible to
effect the by of will, or the
exercise of any faculty; otherwise many people have done what he
had himself to do. His nature was phenomenal—the wall
between himself and the world was in many places.
Through the in his mind the of the invisible, when he
summoned them, passed for a moment and into the solid,
coloured universe.... He not say how it was about.... The
experience was a one for the body, and many such would
lead to and early death. That is why Backhouse was and
abrupt in his manner. The coarse, of some of the
witnesses, the of others, were obnoxious
to his grim, heart; but he was to live, and, to pay his
way, must put up with these impertinences.
He sat the couch. His open but seemed
to look inward. His paled, and he thinner. The
spectators almost to breathe. The more among them began
to feel, or imagine, presences all around them. Maskull’s eyes
glittered with anticipation, and his up and down, but
Nightspore appeared bored.
After a long ten minutes the of the was to become
slightly blurred, as though an were from the
ground. This slowly into a visible cloud, and
thither, and shape. The rose, and
held his with one hand on the of his
nose.
By slow the cloud the and outline
of an adult body, although all was still and blurred. It
hovered in the air, a or so above the couch. Backhouse
looked and ghastly. Mrs. Jameson in her chair,
but she was unnoticed, and presently revived. The now settled
down upon the couch, and at the moment of doing so to
grow dark, solid, and manlike. Many of the guests were as as the
medium himself, but Faull his apathy, and once
or twice at Mrs. Trent. She was at the couch, and was
twisting a little through the different of her
hand. The music on playing.
The was by this time that of a man down. The
face itself into distinctness. The was in a of
shroud, but the were those of a man. One hand fell
over, nearly the floor, white and motionless. The weaker
spirits of the company at the in horror; the rest
were and perplexed. The man was dead, but somehow it did
not appear like a death life, but like a death to
life. All that he might up at any minute.
“Stop that music!” Backhouse, from his chair and
facing the party. Faull touched the bell. A more sounded, and
then total ensued.
“Anyone who wants to may approach the couch,” said Backhouse with
difficulty.
Lang at once advanced, and at the youth.
“You are at to touch,” said the medium.
But Lang did not to, did any of the others, who one by one
stole up to the couch—until it came to Faull’s turn. He looked straight
at Mrs. Trent, who and at the spectacle
before her, and then not only touched the but suddenly
grasped the hand in his own and gave it a powerful squeeze.
Mrs. Trent gave a low scream. The visitor opened his eyes,
looked at Faull strangely, and sat up on the couch. A smile
started playing over his mouth. Faull looked at his hand; a of
intense passed through his body.
Maskull Mrs. Jameson in his arms; she was by another
spell of faintness. Mrs. Trent ran forward, and her out of the room.
Neither of them returned.
The now upright, looking about him, still with his
peculiar smile. Prior sick, and out. The other men
more or less together, for the of society, but
Nightspore up and down, like a man and impatient, while
Maskull to the youth. The him
with a expression, but did not answer. Backhouse was sitting
apart, his in his hands.
It was at this moment that the door was open violently, and a
stranger, unannounced, leaped, a yards into the
room, and then stopped. None of Faull’s friends had him
before. He was a thick, man, with muscular
development and a too large in to his body. His
beardless yellow indicated, as a impression, a mixture of
sagacity, brutality, and humour.
“Aha-i, gentlemen!” he called out loudly. His voice was piercing, and
oddly to the ear. “So we have a little visitor here.”
Nightspore his back, but else at the in
astonishment. He took another steps forward, which him to
the of the theatre.
“May I ask, sir, how I come to have the of being your host?”
asked Faull sullenly. He that the was not as
smoothly as he had anticipated.
The looked at him for a second, and then into a great,
roaring guffaw. He Faull on the playfully—but the play was
rather rough, for the was sent against the before
he his balance.
“Good evening, my host!”
“And good to you too, my lad!” he on, the
supernatural youth, who was now to about the room, in
apparent of his surroundings. “I have someone very
like you before, I think.”
There was no response.
The his almost up to the phantom’s face. “You have
no right here, as you know.”
The shape looked at him with a full of significance, which,
however, no one understand.
“Be what you are doing,” said Backhouse quickly.
“What’s the matter, usher?”
“I don’t know who you are, but if you use physical toward that,
as you to do, the may prove very unpleasant.”
“And without our would be spoiled, wouldn’t it, my
little friend?”
Humour from his face, like from a landscape, leaving
it hard and rocky. Before anyone what he was doing, he
encircled the soft, white of the shape with his hairy
hands and, with a turn, it round. A faint,
unearthly sounded, and the in a to the floor. Its
face was uppermost. The guests were to that
its had from the but to
a vulgar, sordid, grin, which a cold of moral
nastiness into every heart. The was by a
sickening of the graveyard.
The away, the its consistence, passing
from the solid to the condition, and, two minutes had
elapsed, the spirit-form had disappeared.
The and the party, with a long, loud
laugh, like nothing in nature.
The talked to Kent-Smith in low tones. Faull
beckoned Backhouse a of scenery, and him his check
without a word. The medium put it in his pocket, his coat, and
walked out of the room. Lang him, in order to a drink.
The his up into Maskull’s.
“Well, giant, what do you think of it all? Wouldn’t you like to see the
land where this of fruit wild?”
“What of fruit?”
“That goblin.”
Maskull him away with his hand. “Who are you, and how did you
come here?”
“Call up your friend. Perhaps he may me.” Nightspore had moved
a chair to the fire, and was the with a set, fanatical
expression.
“Let Krag come to me, if he wants me,” he said, in his voice.
“You see, he know me,” Krag, with a look. Walking
over to Nightspore, he put a hand on the of his chair.
“Still the same old hunger?”
“What is doing these days?” Nightspore disdainfully, without
altering his attitude.
“Surtur has gone, and we are to him.”
“How do you two come to know each other, and of are you speaking?”
asked Maskull, looking from one to the other in perplexity.
“Krag has something for us. Let us go outside,” Nightspore. He
got up, and over his shoulder. Maskull, the direction
of his eye, that the men were their
little group attentively.
