LOVE AND MR. LEWISHAM
grotesquely unmeaning though they might be. After all. . .
The ghostly hand was hovering almost directly in front of Mr. Lewisham's eyes. It hung with a slight quivering. Ever and again its fingers flapped down and rose stiffly again.
Noise! A loud noise it seemed. Something moving? What was it he had to do!
Lewisham suddenly missed the Medium's little finger. He tried to recover it. He could not find it. He caught, held and lost an arm. There was an exclamation. A faint report. A curse close to him bitten in half by the quick effort to suppress it. Tzit! The little pin-point of light flew up with a hiss.
Lewisham, standing, saw a circle of blinking faces turned to the group of two this sizzling light revealed. Smithers was the chief figure of the group; he stood triumphant, one hand on the gas tap, the other gripping the Medium's wrist, and in the Medium's hand—the incriminatory tambourine.
"How's this, Lewisham ?" cried Smithers, with the shadows on his face jumping as the gas flared.
"Caught!" said Lewisham loudly, rising in his place and avoiding Ethel's eyes.
"What's this?" cried the Medium.
"Cheating," panted Smithers.
"Not so," cried the Medium. "When you turned up the light. . . put my hand up. . . caught tambourine. . . to save head."
"Mr. Smithers," cried Lagune. "Mr. Smithers, this is very wrong. This—shock—"
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