MALONE sat at the side table of the smoking-room of the Literary Club. He had Enid’s impressions of the séance before him—very subtle and observant they were—and he was endeavouring to merge1 them in his own experience. A group of men were smoking and chatting round the fire. This did not disturb the journalist, who found, as many do, that his brain and his pen worked best sometimes when they were stimulated2 by the knowledge that he was part of a busy world. Presently, however, somebody who observed his presence brought the talk round to psychic3 subjects, and then it was more difficult for him to remain aloof4. He leaned back in his chair and listened.
Polter, the famous novelist, was there, a brilliant man with a subtle mind, which he used too often to avoid obvious truth and to defend some impossible position for the sake of the empty dialectic exercise. He was holding forth5 now to an admiring, but not entirely6 a subservient7 audience.
“Science,” said he, “is gradually sweeping8 the world clear of all these old cobwebs of superstition9. The world was like some old, dusty attic10, and the sun of science is bursting in, flooding it with light, while the dust settles gradually to the floor.”
“By science,” said someone maliciously11, “you mean,{78} of course, men like Sir William Crookes, Sir Oliver Lodge12, Sir William Barrett, Lombroso, Richet, and so forth.”
Polter was not accustomed to be countered, and usually became rude.
“No, sir, I mean nothing so preposterous,” he answered, with a glare. “No name, however eminent13, can claim to stand for science so long as he is a member of an insignificant14 minority of scientific men.”
“He is, then, a crank,” said Pollifex, the artist, who usually played jackal to Polter.
The objector, one Millworthy, a free-lance of journalism16, was not to be so easily silenced.
“Then Galileo was a crank in his day,” said he. “And Harvey was a crank when he was laughed at over the circulation of the blood.”
“It’s the circulation of the Daily Gazette which is at stake,” said Marrible, the humorist of the club. “If they get off their stunt17 I don’t suppose they care a tinker’s curse what is truth or what is not.”
“Why such things should be examined at all, except in a police court, I can’t imagine,” said Polter. “It is a dispersal of energy, a misdirection of human thought into channels which lead nowhere. We have plenty of obvious, material things to examine. Let us get on with our jobs.”
“I think the learned bodies should find more time for the consideration of psychic matters.”
“Less,” said Polter.
“You can’t have less than nothing. They ignore them altogether. Some time ago I had a series of cases of telepathic rapport19 which I wished to lay before the Royal Society. My colleague Wilson, the{79} zoologist20, also had a paper which he proposed to read. They went in together. His was accepted and mine rejected. The title of his paper was ‘The Reproductive System of the Dung-Beetle.’”
There was a general laugh.
“Quite right, too,” said Polter. “The humble21 dung-beetle was at least a fact. All this psychic stuff is not.”
“No doubt you have good grounds for your views,” chirped22 the mischievous23 Millworthy, a mild youth with a velvety24 manner. “I have little time for solid reading, so I should like to ask you which of Dr. Crawford’s three books you consider the best?”
“I never heard of the fellow.”
Millworthy simulated intense surprise.
“Good Heavens, man! Why, he is the authority. If you want pure laboratory experiments those are the books. You might as well lay down the law about zoology25 and confess that you had never heard of Darwin.”
“This is not science,” said Polter, emphatically.
“What is really not science,” said Atkinson, with some heat, “is the laying down of the law on matters which you have not studied. It is talk of that sort which has brought me to the edge of Spiritualism, when I compare this dogmatic ignorance with the earnest search for truth conducted by the great Spiritualists. Many of them took twenty years of work before they formed their conclusions.”
“But their conclusions are worthless because they are upholding a formed opinion.”
“But each of them fought a long fight before he formed that opinion. I know a few of them, and there is not one who did not take a lot of convincing.”
“Well, they can have their spooks if it makes them happier, so long as they let me keep my feet firm on the ground.”
“Or stuck in the mud,” said Atkinson.
“I would rather be in the mud with sane27 people than in the air with lunatics,” said Polter. “I know some of these Spiritualist people and I believe that you can divide them equally into fools and rogues28.”
Malone had listened with interest and then with a growing indignation. Now he suddenly took fire.
“Look here, Polter,” he said, turning his chair towards the company, “it is fools and dolts29 like you which are holding back the world’s progress. You admit that you have read nothing of this, and I’ll swear that you have seen nothing. Yet you use the position and the name which you have won in other matters in order to discredit30 a number of people who, whatever they may be, are certainly very earnest and very thoughtful.”
“Oh,” said Polter, “I had no idea you had got so far. You don’t dare to say so in your articles. You are a Spiritualist then. That rather discounts your views, does it not?”
“I am not a Spiritualist, but I am an honest inquirer, and that is more than you have ever been. You call them rogues and fools, but, little as I know, I am sure that some of them are men and women whose boots you are not worthy15 to clean.”
“Oh, come, Malone!” cried one or two voices, but the insulted Polter was on his feet. “It’s men like you who empty this club,” he cried, as he swept out. “I shall certainly never come here again to be insulted.”
“I say, you’ve done it, Malone!”
“I felt inclined to help him out with a kick. Why{81} should he ride roughshod over other people’s feelings and beliefs? He has got on and most of us haven’t, so he thinks it’s a condescension31 to come among us.”
“Dear old Irishman!” said Atkinson, patting his shoulder. “Rest, perturbed32 spirit, rest! But I wanted to have a word with you. Indeed, I was waiting here because I did not want to interrupt you.”
“I’ve had interruptions enough!” cried Malone. “How could I work with that damned donkey braying33 in my ear?”
“Well, I’ve only a word to say. I’ve got a sitting with Linden, the famous medium of whom I spoke to you, at the Psychic College to-night. I have an extra ticket. Would you care to come?”
“Come? I should think so!”
“I have another ticket. I should have asked Polter if he had not been so offensive. Linden does not mind sceptics, but objects to scoffers. Whom should I ask?”
“Let Miss Enid Challenger come. We work together, you know.”
“Why, of course I will. Will you let her know?”
“Certainly.”
“It’s at seven o’clock to-night. The Psychic College. You know the place down at Holland Park.”
“Yes, I have the address. Very well, Miss Challenger and I will certainly be there.”
Behold34 the pair, then, upon a fresh psychic adventure. They picked Atkinson up at Wimpole Street, and then traversed that long, roaring, rushing driving belt of the great city which extends through Oxford35 Street and Bayswater to Notting Hill and the stately Victorian houses of Holland Park. It was at one of{82} these that the taxi drew up, a large, imposing36 building, standing37 back a little from the road. A smart maid admitted them, and the subdued38 light of the tinted39 hall-lamp fell upon shining linoleum40 and polished wood-work with the gleam of white marble statuary in the corner. Enid’s female perceptions told her of a well-run, well-appointed establishment, with a capable direction at the head. This direction took the shape of a kindly41 Scottish lady who met them in the hall and greeted Mr. Atkinson as an old friend. She was, in turn, introduced to the journalists as Mrs. Ogilvy. Malone had already heard how her husband and she had founded and run this remarkable42 institute, which is the centre of psychic experiment in London, at a very great cost, both in labour and in money, to themselves.
“Linden and his wife have gone up,” said Mrs. Ogilvy. “He seems to think that the conditions are favourable43. The rest are in the drawing-room. Won’t you join them for a few minutes?”
Quite a number of people had gathered for the séance, some of them old psychic students who were mildly interested; others, beginners who looked about them with rather startled eyes, wondering what was going to happen next. A tall man was standing near the door who turned and disclosed the tawny44 beard and open face of Algernon Mailey. He shook hands with the newcomers.
“Another experience, Mr. Malone? Well, I thought you gave a very fair account of the last. You are still a neophyte45, but you are well within the gates of the temple. Are you alarmed, Miss Challenger?”
“I don’t think I could be while you were around,” she answered.
He laughed.{83}
“Of course, a materialisation séance is a little different to any other—more impressive, in a way. You’ll find it very instructive, Malone, as bearing upon psychic photography and other matters. By the way, you should try for a psychic picture. The famous Hope works upstairs.”
“I always thought that that at least was fraud.”
“On the contrary, I should say it was the best established of all phenomena46, the one which leaves the most permanent proof. I’ve been a dozen times under every possible test condition. The real trouble is, not that it lends itself to fraud, but that it lends itself to exploitation by that villainous journalism which cares only for a sensation. Do you know anyone here?”
“No, we don’t.”
“The tall, handsome lady is the Duchess of Rossland. Then, there are Lord and Lady Montnoir, the middle-aged47 couple near the fire. Real good folk and among the very few of the aristocracy who have shown earnestness and moral courage in this matter. The talkative lady is Miss Badley, who lives for séances, a jaded48 Society woman in search of new sensations—always visible, always audible and always empty. I don’t know the two men. I heard someone say they were researchers from the University. The stout49 man with the lady in black is Sir James Smith—they lost two boys in the war. The tall, dark person is a weird50 man named Barclay, who lives, I understand, in one room and seldom comes out save for a séance.”
“And the man with the horn glasses?”
“That is a pompous52 ass51 named Weatherby. He is one of those who wander about on the obscure edges of Masonry53, talking with whispers and reverence54 of mysteries where no mystery is. Spiritualism, with its{84} very real and awful mysteries, is, to him, a vulgar thing because it brought consolation55 to common folk, but he loves to read papers on the Palladian Cultus, ancient and accepted Scottish rites56, and Baphometic figures. Eliphas Levi is his prophet.”
“It sounds very learned,” said Enid.
The two Bolsovers had arrived, very hot and frowsy and genial58. There is no such leveller of classes as spiritualism, and the charwoman with psychic force is the superior of the millionaire who lacks it. The Bolsovers and the aristocrats59 fraternised instantly. The Duchess was just asking for admission to the grocer’s circle, when Mrs. Ogilvy bustled60 in.
“I think everyone is here now,” she said. “It is time to go upstairs.”
The séance room was a large, comfortable chamber61 on the first floor, with a circle of easy chairs, and a curtain-hung divan62 which served as a cabinet. The medium and his wife were waiting there. Mr. Linden was a gentle, large-featured man, stoutish63 in build, deep-chested, clean-shaven, with dreamy, blue eyes and flaxen, curly hair which rose in a pyramid at the apex64 of his head. He was of middle age. His wife was rather younger, with the sharp, querulous expression of the tired housekeeper65, and quick, critical eyes, which softened66 into something like adoration67 when she looked at her husband. Her rôle was to explain matters and to guard his interests while he was unconscious.
“The sitters had better just take their own places,” said the medium. “If you can alternate the sexes it is as well. Don’t cross your knees, it breaks the{85} current. If we have a materialisation, don’t grab at it. If you do, you are liable to injure me.”
The two sleuths of the Research Society looked at each other knowingly. Mailey observed it.
“Quite right,” he said. “I have seen two cases of dangerous haemorrhage in the medium brought on by that very cause.”
“Why?” asked Malone.
“Because the ectoplasm used is drawn68 from the medium. It recoils69 upon him like a snapped elastic70 band. Where it comes through the skin you get a bruise71. Where it comes from mucous72 membrane73 you get bleeding.”
“And when it comes from nothing, you get nothing,” said the researcher with a grin.
“I will explain the procedure in a few words,” said Mrs. Ogilvy, when everyone was seated. “Mr. Linden does not enter the cabinet at all. He sits outside it, and as he tolerates red light you will be able to satisfy yourselves that he does not leave his seat. Mrs. Linden sits on the other side. She is there to regulate and explain. In the first place we would wish you to examine the cabinet. One of you will also please lock the door on the inside and be responsible for the key.”
The cabinet proved to be a mere74 tent of hangings, detached from the wall and standing on a solid platform. The reseachers ferreted about inside it and stamped on the boards. All seemed solid.
“What is the use of it?” Malone whispered to Mailey.
“It serves as a reservoir and condensing place for the ectoplasmic vapour from the medium, which would otherwise diffuse75 over the room.”
“It has been known to serve other purposes also,{86}” remarked one of the researchers, who overheard the conversation.
“That’s true enough,” said Mailey philosophically76. “I am all in favour of caution and supervision77.”
“Well, it seems fraud-proof on this occasion, if the medium sits outside.” The two researchers were agreed on this.
The medium was seated on one side of the little tent, his wife on the other. The light was out, and a small red lamp near the ceiling was just sufficient to enable outlines to be clearly seen. As the eye became accustomed to it some detail could also be observed.
“Mr. Linden will begin by some clairvoyant78 readings,” said Mrs. Linden. Her whole attitude, seated beside the cabinet with her hands on her lap and the air of a proprietor79, made Enid smile, for she thought of Mrs. Jarley and her waxworks80.
Linden, who was not in trance, began to give clairvoyance81. It was not very good. Possibly the mixed influence of so many sitters of various types at close quarters was too disturbing. That was the excuse which he gave himself when several of his descriptions were unrecognised. But Malone was more shocked by those which were recognised, since it was so clear that the word was put into the medium’s mouth. It was the folly82 of the sitter rather than the fault of the medium, but it was disconcerting all the same.
“Oh, darling, darling, have you then come back!” cried Miss Badley. “Oh, has he a message?”
“He sends his love and does not forget.”
“Oh, how evidential! It is so exactly what the dear boy would have said! My first lover, you know,” she added, in a simpering voice to the com{87}pany. “He never fails to come. Mr. Linden has brought him again and again.”
“There is a young fellow in khaki building upon the left. I see a symbol over his head. It might be a Greek cross.”
“Jim—it is surely Jim!” cried Lady Smith.
“Yes. He nods his head.”
“And the Greek cross is probably a propeller,” said Sir James. “He was in the Air Service, you know.”
Malone and Enid were both rather shocked. Mailey was also uneasy.
“This is not good,” he whispered to Enid. “Wait a bit! You will get something better.”
There were several good recognitions, and then someone resembling Summerlee was described for Malone. This was wisely discounted by him, since Linden might have been in the audience on the former occasion. Mrs. Debbs’ exhibition seemed to him far more convincing than that of Linden.
“Wait a bit!” Mailey repeated.
“The medium will now try for materialisations,” said Mrs. Linden. “If the figures appear I would ask you not to touch them, save by request. Victor will tell you if you may do so. Victor is the medium’s control.”
The medium had settled down in his chair and he now began to draw long, whistling breaths with deep intakes84, puffing85 the air out between his lips. Finally he steadied down and seemed to sink into a deep coma86, his chin upon his breast. Suddenly he spoke, but it seemed that his voice was better modulated87 and more cultivated than before.
“Good evening, all!” said the voice.
“I am afraid that the vibrations89 are not very harmonious90. The sceptical element is present, but not, I think, predominant, so that we may hope for results. Martin Lightfoot is doing what he can.”
“That is the Indian control,” Mailey whispered.
“I think that if you would start the gramophone it would be helpful. A hymn91 is always best, though there is no real objection to secular92 music. Give us what you think best, Mrs. Ogilvy.”
There was the rasping of a needle which had not yet found its grooves93. Then “Lead, Kindly Light” was churned out. The audience joined in in a subdued fashion. Mrs. Ogilvy then changed it to “O, God, our help in ages past.”
“They often change the records themselves,” said Mrs. Ogilvy, “but to-night there it not enough power.”
“O, yes,” said the voice. “There is enough power, Mrs. Ogilvy, but we are anxious to conserve94 it all for the materialisations. Martin says they are building up very well.”
At this moment the curtain in front of the cabinet began to sway. It bellied95 out as if a strong wind were behind it. At the same time a breeze was felt by all who were in the circle, together with a sensation of cold.
“It is quite chilly,” whispered Enid, with a shiver.
“It is not a subjective96 feeling,” Mailey answered. “Mr. Harry97 Price has tested it with thermometric readings. So did Professor Crawford.”
“My God!” cried a startled voice. It belonged to the pompous dabbler98 in mysteries, who was suddenly faced with a real mystery. The curtains of the cabinet had parted and a human figure had stolen noiselessly out. There was the medium clearly outlined on one{89} side. There was Mrs. Linden, who had sprung to her feet, on the other. And, between them, the little black, hesitating figure, which seemed to be terrified at its own position. Mrs. Linden soothed99 and encouraged it.
“Don’t be alarmed, dear. It is all quite right. No one will hurt you.”
“It is someone who has never been through before,” she explained to the company. “Naturally it seems very strange to her. Just as strange as if we broke into their world. That’s right, dear. You are gaining strength, I can see. Well done!”
The figure was moving forward. Everyone sat spell bound, with staring eyes. Miss Badley began to giggle100 hysterically101. Weatherby lay back in his chair, gasping102 with horror. Neither Malone nor Enid felt any fear, but were consumed with curiosity. How marvellous to hear the humdrum103 flow of life in the street outside and to be face to face with such a sight as that.
Slowly the figure moved round. Now it was close to Enid and between her and the red light. Stooping, she could get the silhouette104 sharply outlined. It was that of a little, elderly woman, with sharp, clear-cut features.
“It’s Susan!” cried Mrs. Bolsover. “Oh, Susan, don’t you know me?”
The figure turned and nodded her head.
“Yes, yes, dear, it is your sister Susie,” cried her husband. “I never saw her in anything but black. Susan, speak to us!”
The head was shaken.
“They seldom speak the first time they come,” said Mrs. Linden, whose rather blasé, businesslike air was in contrast to the intense emotion of the company.{90} “I’m afraid she can’t hold together long. Ah, there! She has gone!”
The figure had disappeared. There had been some backward movement towards the cabinet, but it seemed to the observers that she sank into the ground before she reached it. At any rate, she was gone.
“Gramophone, please!” said Mrs. Linden. Everyone relaxed and sat back with a sigh. The gramophone struck up a lively air. Suddenly the curtains parted, and a second figure appeared.
It was a young girl, with flowing hair down her back. She came forward swiftly and with perfect assurance to the centre of the circle.
Mrs. Linden laughed in a satisfied way.
“Now you will get something good,” she said. “Here is Lucille.”
“Good evening, Lucille!” cried the Duchess. “I met you last month, you will remember, when your medium came to Maltraver Towers.”
“Yes, yes, lady, I remember you. You have a little boy, Tommy, on our side of life. No, no, not dead, lady! We are far more alive than you are. All the fun and frolic are with us!” She spoke in a high, clear voice and perfect English.
“Shall I show you what we do over here?” She began a graceful105, gliding106 dance, while she whistled as melodiously107 as a bird. “Poor Susan could not do that. Susan has had no practice. Lucille knows how to use a built-up body.”
“Do you remember me, Lucille?” asked Mailey.
“I remember you, Mr. Mailey. Big man with yellow beard.”
For the second time in her life Enid had to pinch herself hard to satisfy herself that she was not dreaming. Was this graceful creature, who had now sat{91} down in the centre of the circle, a real materialisation of ectoplasm, used for the moment as a machine for expression by a soul that had passed, or was it an illusion of the senses, or was it a fraud? There were the three possibilities. An illusion was absurd when all had the same impression. Was it fraud? But this was certainly not the little old woman. She was inches taller and fair, not dark. And the cabinet was fraud-proof. It had been meticulously108 examined. Then it was true. But if it were true, what a vista109 of possibilities opened out. Was it not far the greatest matter which could claim the attention of the world!
Meanwhile, Lucille had been so natural and the situation was so normal that even the most nervous had relaxed. The girl answered most cheerfully to every question, and they rained upon her from every side.
“Where did you live, Lucille?”
“Perhaps I had better answer that,” interposed Mrs. Linden. “It will save the power. Lucille was bred in South Dakota in the United States, and passed over at the age of fourteen. We have verified some of her statements.”
“Are you glad you died, Lucille?”
“Glad for my own sake. Sorry for mother.”
“Has your mother seen you since?”
“Poor mother is a shut box. Lucille cannot open the lid.”
“Are you happy?”
“Oh, yes, so gloriously happy.”
“Is it right that you can come back?”
“Would God allow it if it were not right? What a wicked man you must be to ask!”
“What religion were you?{92}”
“We were Roman Catholics.”
“Is that the right religion?”
“All religions are right if they make you better.”
“Then it does not matter.”
“It is what people do in daily life, not what they believe.”
“Tell us more, Lucille.”
“Lucille has little time. There are others who wish to come. If Lucille uses too much power, the others have less. Oh, God is very good and kind! You poor people on earth do not know how good and kind He is because it is grey down there. But it is grey for your own good. It is to give you your chance to earn all the lovely things which wait for you. But you can only tell how wonderful He is when you get over here.”
“Have you seen him?”
“Seen him! How could you see God? No, no, He is all round us and in us and in everything, but we do not see Him. But I have seen the Christ. Oh, He was glorious, glorious! Now, good-bye—good-bye!” She backed towards the cabinet and sank into the shadows.
Now came a tremendous experience for Malone. A small, dark, rather broad figure of a woman appeared slowly from the cabinet. Mrs. Linden encouraged her and then came across to the journalist.
“It is for you. You can break the circle. Come up to her.”
Malone advanced and peered awestruck into the face of the apparition110. There was not a foot between them. Surely that large head, that solid, square outline was familiar! He put his face still nearer—it was almost touching111. He strained his eyes. It seemed to him that the features were semi-fluid,{93} moulding themselves into a shape, as if some unseen hand was modelling them in putty.
“Mother!” he cried. “Mother!”
Instantly the figure threw up both her hands in a wild gesture of joy. The motion seemed to destroy her equilibrium112 and she vanished.
“She had not been through before. She could not speak,” said Mrs. Linden, in her businesslike way. “It was your mother.”
Malone went back, half-stunned, to his seat. It is only when these things come to one’s own address that one understands their full force. His mother! Ten years in her grave and yet standing before him. Could he swear it was his mother? No, he could not. Was he morally certain that it was his mother? Yes, he was morally certain. He was shaken to the core.
But other wonders diverted his thoughts. A young man had emerged briskly from the cabinet and had advanced to the front of Mailey, where he had halted.
“Hullo, Jock! Dear old Jock!” said Mailey. “My nephew,” he explained to the company. “He always comes when I am with Linden.”
“The power is sinking,” said the lad, in a clear voice. “I can’t stay very long. I am so glad to see you, Uncle. You know, we can see quite clearly in this light, even if you can’t.”
“Yes, I know you can. I say, Jock. I wanted to tell you that I told your mother I had seen you. She said her Church taught her it was wrong.”
“I know. And that I was a demon113. Oh, it is rotten, rotten, rotten, and rotten things will fall!” His voice broke in a sob114.
“Don’t blame her, Jock, she believes this.”
“No, no, I don’t blame her! She will know better some day. The day is coming soon when all truth{94} will be manifest and all these corrupt115 Churches will be swept off the earth with their cruel doctrines116 and their caricatures of God.”
“Why, Jock, you are becoming quite a heretic!”
“Love, Uncle! Love! That is all that counts. What matter what you believe if you are sweet and kind and unselfish as the Christ was of old?”
“Have you seen Christ?” asked someone.
“Not yet. Perhaps the time may come.”
“Is He not in Heaven, then?”
“There are many heavens. I am in a very humble one. But it is glorious, all the same.”
Enid had thrust her head forward during this dialogue. Her eyes had got used to the light and she could see more clearly than before. The man who stood within a few feet of her was not human. Of that she had no doubt whatever, and yet the points were very subtle. Something in his strange, yellow-white colouring as contrasted with the faces of her neighbours. Something, also, in the curious stiffness of his carriage, as of a man in very rigid117 stays.
“Now, Jock,” said Mailey, “give an address to the company. Tell them a few words about your life.”
The figure hung his head, exactly as a shy youth would do in life.
“Oh, Uncle, I can’t.”
“Come, Jock, we love to listen to you.”
“Teach the folk what death is,” the figure began. “God wants them to know. That is why He lets us come back. It is nothing. You are no more changed than if you went into the next room. You can’t believe you are dead. I didn’t. It was only when I saw old Sam that I knew, for I was certain that he was dead, anyhow. Then I came back to mother. And”—his voice broke—“she would not receive me.{95}”
“Never mind, dear old Jock,” said Mailey. “She will learn wisdom.”
“Teach them the truth! Teach it to them! Oh, it is so much more important than all the things men talk about. If papers for one week gave as much attention to psychic things as they do to football, it would be known to all. It is ignorance which stands——”
The observers were conscious of a sort of flash towards the cabinet, but the youth had disappeared.
“Power run down,” said Mailey. “Poor lad, he held on to the last. He always did. That was how he died.”
There was a long pause. The gramophone started again. Then there was a movement of the curtains. Something was emerging. Mrs. Linden sprang up and waved the figure back. The medium for the first time stirred in his chair and groaned118.
“What is the matter, Mrs. Linden?”
“Only half-formed,” she answered. “The lower face had not materialised. Some of you would have been alarmed. I think that we shall have no more to-night. The power has sunk very low.”
So it proved. The lights were gradually turned on. The medium lay with a white face and a clammy brow in his chair, while his wife sedulously119 watched over him, unbuttoning his collar and bathing his face from a water-glass. The company broke into little groups, discussing what they had seen.
“Oh, wasn’t it thrilling!” cried Miss Badley. “It really was most exciting. But what a pity we could not see the one with the semi-materialised face.”
“Thank you, I have seen quite enough,” said the pompous mystic, all the pomposity120 shaken out of him.{96}
“I confess that it has been rather too much for my nerves.”
Dr. Atkinson found himself near the psychic researchers. “Well, what do you make of it?” he asked.
“I have seen it better done at Maskelyne’s Hall,” said one.
“Oh, come, Scott!” said the other. “You’ve no right to say that. You admitted that the cabinet was fraud-proof.”
“Well, so do the committees who go on the stage at Maskelyne’s.”
“Populus vult decipi,” the other answered, shrugging his shoulders. “I should certainly reserve judgment122.” He moved away with the dignity of one who cannot be deceived, while his more rational companion still argued with him as they went.
“Did you hear that?” said Atkinson. “There is a certain class of psychic researcher who is absolutely incapable123 of receiving evidence. They misuse124 their brains by straining them to find a way round when the road is quite clear before them. When the human race advances into its new kingdom, these intellectual men will form the absolute rear.”
“No, no,” said Mailey, laughing. “The bishops125 are predestined to be the rearguard. I see them all marching in step, a solid body, with their gaiters and cassocks—the last in the whole world to reach spiritual truth.”
“Oh, come,” said Enid, “that is too severe. They are all good men.”
“Of course they are. It’s quite physiological126. They are a body of elderly men, and the elderly brain{97} is sclerosed and cannot record new impressions. It’s not their fault, but the fact remains127. You are very silent, Malone.”
But Malone was thinking of a little, squat128, dark figure which waved its hands in joy when he spoke to it. It was with that image in his mind that he turned from this room of wonders and passed down into the street.
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merge
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| v.(使)结合，(使)合并，(使)合为一体 | |
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stimulated
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| a.刺激的 | |
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psychic
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| n.对超自然力敏感的人；adj.有超自然力的 | |
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aloof
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| adj.远离的；冷淡的，漠不关心的 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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7
subservient
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| adj.卑屈的，阿谀的 | |
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8
sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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9
superstition
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| n.迷信，迷信行为 | |
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10
attic
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| n.顶楼，屋顶室 | |
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maliciously
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| adv.有敌意地 | |
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12
lodge
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| v.临时住宿，寄宿，寄存，容纳；n.传达室，小旅馆 | |
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13
eminent
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| adj.显赫的，杰出的，有名的，优良的 | |
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14
insignificant
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| adj.无关紧要的，可忽略的，无意义的 | |
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15
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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16
journalism
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| n.新闻工作，报业 | |
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17
stunt
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| n.惊人表演，绝技，特技；vt.阻碍...发育，妨碍...生长 | |
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18
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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19
rapport
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| n.和睦，意见一致 | |
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20
zoologist
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| n.动物学家 | |
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21
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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22
chirped
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| 鸟叫，虫鸣( chirp的过去式 ) | |
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23
mischievous
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| adj.调皮的，恶作剧的，有害的，伤人的 | |
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24
velvety
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| adj. 像天鹅绒的, 轻软光滑的, 柔软的 | |
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25
zoology
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| n.动物学，生态 | |
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26
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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27
sane
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| adj.心智健全的，神志清醒的，明智的，稳健的 | |
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28
rogues
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| n.流氓( rogue的名词复数 )；无赖；调皮捣蛋的人；离群的野兽 | |
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29
dolts
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| n.笨蛋，傻瓜( dolt的名词复数 ) | |
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30
discredit
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| vt.使不可置信；n.丧失信义；不信，怀疑 | |
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31
condescension
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| n.自以为高人一等，贬低(别人) | |
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32
perturbed
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| adj.烦燥不安的v.使（某人）烦恼，不安( perturb的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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33
braying
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| v.发出驴叫似的声音( bray的现在分词 )；发嘟嘟声；粗声粗气地讲话（或大笑）；猛击 | |
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34
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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35
Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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36
imposing
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| adj.使人难忘的，壮丽的，堂皇的，雄伟的 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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38
subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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39
tinted
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| adj. 带色彩的 动词tint的过去式和过去分词 | |
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40
linoleum
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| n.油布，油毯 | |
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41
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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42
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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43
favourable
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| adj.赞成的，称赞的，有利的，良好的，顺利的 | |
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44
tawny
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| adj.茶色的，黄褐色的；n.黄褐色 | |
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45
neophyte
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| n.新信徒；开始者 | |
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46
phenomena
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| n.现象 | |
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47
middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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48
jaded
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| adj.精疲力竭的；厌倦的；（因过饱或过多而）腻烦的；迟钝的 | |
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50
weird
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| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
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51
ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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52
pompous
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| adj.傲慢的，自大的；夸大的；豪华的 | |
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53
masonry
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| n.砖土建筑；砖石 | |
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54
reverence
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| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
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55
consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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56
rites
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| 仪式，典礼( rite的名词复数 ) | |
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57
mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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58
genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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59
aristocrats
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| n.贵族( aristocrat的名词复数 ) | |
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60
bustled
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| 闹哄哄地忙乱，奔忙( bustle的过去式和过去分词 )； 催促 | |
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61
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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62
divan
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| n.长沙发；（波斯或其他东方诗人的）诗集 | |
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63
stoutish
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| 略胖的 | |
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64
apex
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| n.顶点，最高点 | |
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65
housekeeper
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| n.管理家务的主妇，女管家 | |
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66
softened
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| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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67
adoration
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| n.爱慕，崇拜 | |
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68
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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69
recoils
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| n.（尤指枪炮的）反冲，后坐力( recoil的名词复数 )v.畏缩( recoil的第三人称单数 )；退缩；报应；返回 | |
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70
elastic
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| n.橡皮圈，松紧带；adj.有弹性的；灵活的 | |
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71
bruise
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| n.青肿，挫伤；伤痕；vt.打青；挫伤 | |
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72
mucous
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| adj. 黏液的，似黏液的 | |
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73
membrane
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| n.薄膜，膜皮，羊皮纸 | |
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74
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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75
diffuse
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| v.扩散；传播；adj.冗长的；四散的，弥漫的 | |
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76
philosophically
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| adv.哲学上；富有哲理性地；贤明地；冷静地 | |
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77
supervision
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| n.监督，管理 | |
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78
clairvoyant
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| adj.有预见的；n.有预见的人 | |
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79
proprietor
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| n.所有人；业主；经营者 | |
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80
waxworks
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| n.公共供水系统；蜡制品，蜡像( waxwork的名词复数 ) | |
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81
clairvoyance
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| n.超人的洞察力 | |
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82
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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83
drooping
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| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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84
intakes
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| 吸入( intake的名词复数 )； （液体等）进入口； （一定时期内）进入或纳入的人数； （采煤）进风巷道 | |
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85
puffing
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| v.使喷出( puff的现在分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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86
coma
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| n.昏迷，昏迷状态 | |
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87
modulated
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| 已调整[制]的，被调的 | |
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88
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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89
vibrations
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| n.摆动( vibration的名词复数 )；震动；感受；（偏离平衡位置的）一次性往复振动 | |
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90
harmonious
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| adj.和睦的，调和的，和谐的，协调的 | |
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91
hymn
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| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌 | |
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92
secular
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| n.牧师，凡人；adj.世俗的，现世的，不朽的 | |
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93
grooves
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| n.沟( groove的名词复数 )；槽；老一套；（某种）音乐节奏v.沟( groove的第三人称单数 )；槽；老一套；（某种）音乐节奏 | |
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94
conserve
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| vt.保存，保护，节约，节省，守恒，不灭 | |
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95
bellied
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| adj.有腹的，大肚子的 | |
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96
subjective
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| a.主观(上)的，个人的 | |
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97
harry
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| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
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98
dabbler
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| n. 戏水者, 业余家, 半玩半认真做的人 | |
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99
soothed
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| v.安慰( soothe的过去式和过去分词 )；抚慰；使舒服；减轻痛苦 | |
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100
giggle
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| n.痴笑，咯咯地笑；v.咯咯地笑着说 | |
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101
hysterically
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| ad. 歇斯底里地 | |
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102
gasping
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| adj. 气喘的, 痉挛的 动词gasp的现在分词 | |
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103
humdrum
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| adj.单调的，乏味的 | |
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104
silhouette
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| n.黑色半身侧面影，影子，轮廓；v.描绘成侧面影，照出影子来，仅仅显出轮廓 | |
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105
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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106
gliding
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| v. 滑翔 adj. 滑动的 | |
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107
melodiously
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108
meticulously
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| adv.过细地，异常细致地；无微不至；精心 | |
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109
vista
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| n.远景，深景，展望，回想 | |
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110
apparition
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| n.幽灵，神奇的现象 | |
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111
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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112
equilibrium
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| n.平衡，均衡，相称，均势，平静 | |
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113
demon
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| n.魔鬼，恶魔 | |
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114
sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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115
corrupt
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| v.贿赂，收买；adj.腐败的，贪污的 | |
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116
doctrines
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| n.教条( doctrine的名词复数 )；教义；学说；（政府政策的）正式声明 | |
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117
rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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118
groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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119
sedulously
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| ad.孜孜不倦地 | |
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120
pomposity
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| n.浮华；虚夸；炫耀；自负 | |
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121
machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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122
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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123
incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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124
misuse
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| n.误用，滥用；vt.误用，滥用 | |
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125
bishops
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| （基督教某些教派管辖大教区的）主教( bishop的名词复数 )； （国际象棋的）象 | |
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126
physiological
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| adj.生理学的，生理学上的 | |
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127
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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128
squat
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| v.蹲坐，蹲下；n.蹲下；adj.矮胖的，粗矮的 | |
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