in formed a low screen behind her, with the stand
beyond it. On this stand we placed, at her order, various articles from
our pockets--I a fountain pen, Sperry a knife; and my wife contributed a
gold bracelet.

We all felt, I fancy, rather absurd. Herbert's smile in the dim light
became a grin. "The same old thing!" he whispered to me. "Watch her
closely. They do it with a folding rod."

We arranged between us that we were to sit one on each side of her, and
Sperry warned me not to let go of her hand for a moment. "They have a
way of switching hands," he explained in a whisper. "If she wants to
scratch her nose I'll scratch it."

We were, we discovered, not to touch the table, but to sit around it at
a distance of a few inches, holding hands and thus forming the circle.
And for twenty minutes we sat thus, and nothing happened. She was
fully conscious and even spoke once or twice, and at last she moved
impatiently and told us to put our hands on the table.

I had put my opened watch on the table before me, a night watch with a
luminous dial. At five minutes after nine I felt the top of the table
waver under my fingers, a curious, fluid-like motion.

"The table is going to move," I said.

Herbert laughed, a dry little chuckle. "Sure it is," he said. "When we
all get to acting together, it will probably do considerable moving. I
feel what you feel. It's flowing under my fingers."

"Blood," said Sperry. "You fellows feel the blood moving through the
ends of your fingers. That's all. Don't be impatient."

However, curiously enough, the table did not move. Instead, my watch,
before my eyes, slid to the edge of the table and dropped to the floor,
and almost instantly an object, which we recognized later as Sperry's
knife, was flung over the curtain and struck the wall behind Mrs. Dane
violently.

One of the women screamed, ending in a hysterical giggle. Then we heard
rhythmic beating on the top of the stand behind the medium. Startling
as it was at the beginning, increasing as it did from a slow beat to
an incredibly rapid drumming, when the initial shock was over Herbert
commenced to gibe.

"Your fountain pen, Horace," he said to me. "Making out a statement for
services rendered, by its eagerness."

The answer to that was the pen itself, aimed at him with apparent
accuracy, and followed by an outcry from him.

"Here, stop it!" he said. "I've got ink all over me!"

We laughed consumedly. The sitting had taken o