LOVE AND MR. LEWISHAM
Somebody shuddered again, some one opposite him this time. He felt Lagune's finger quiver still more palpably, and then suddenly the raps began, abruptly, all about him. Rap!—making him start violently. A swift percussive sound, tap, rap, dap, under the table, under the chair, in the air, round the cornices. The Medium groaned again and shuddered, and his nervous agitation passed sympathetically round the circle. The music seemed to fade to the vanishing point and grew louder again.
How was it done?
He heard Lagune's voice next him speaking with a peculiar quality of breathless reverence. "The alphabet?" he asked, “shall we—shall we use the alphabet?"
A forcible rap under the table.
"No!" interpreted the voice of the Medium.
The raps were continued everywhere.
Of course it was trickery. Lewisham endeavoured to think what the mechanism was. He tried to determine whether he really had the Medium's little finger touching his. He peered at the dark shape next him. There was a violent rapping with an almost metallic resonance far away behind them. Then the raps ceased, and over the healing silence the little jet of melody from the musical box played alone. And after a moment that ceased also. . . .
The stillness was profound. Mr. Lewisham was now highly strung. Doubts assailed him suddenly, and an overwhelming apprehension, a sense of vast occurrences gathered above him. The darkness was a physical oppression. . . .
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