And then there had been the quaint little man from the Psychical Research Society. He had stayed a fortnight in the same private hotel with her at Bournemouth. He was skilled in the investigation of haunted houses and the detection of poltergeists. He had rather liked Miss Climpson, and she had passed several interesting evenings hearing about the tricks of mediums. Under his guidance she had learnt to turn tables and produce explosive cracking noises; she knew how to examine a pair of sealed slates for the marks of the wedges which let the chalk go in on a long black wire to write spirit-massages. She had seen the ingenious rubber gloves which leave the impression of spirit hands in a bucket of paraffinwax, and which, when deflated, can be drawn delicately from the hardened wax through a hole narrower than a child’s wrist. She even knew theoretically, though she had never tried it, how to hold her hands to be tied behind her back so as to force that first deceptive knot which makes all subsequent knots useless, and how to flit about the room banging tambourines in the twilight in spite of having been tied up in a black cabinet with both fists filled with flour. Miss Climpson had wondered greatly at the folly and wickedness of mankind.
The nurse went on talking, and Miss Climpson answered mechanically.
“She’s only a beginner,” said Miss Climpson to herself. “She’s reading a text-book… And she is quite uncritical… Surely she knows that that woman was exposed long ago… People like her shouldn’t be allowed out alone – they’re living incitements to fraud… I don’t know this Mrs. Craig she is talking about, but I should say she was as twisty as a corkscrew… I must avoid Mrs. Craig, she probably knows too much… if the poor deluded creature will swallow that, she’ll swallow anything.”
“It does seem most wonderful, doesn’t it?” said Miss Climpson, aloud. “But isn’t it a wee bit dangerous? I’ve been told I’m sensitive myself, but I have never dared to try. Is it wise to open one’s mind to these supernatural influences?”
“It’s not dangerous if you know the right way,” said the nurse. “One must learn to build up a shell of pure thoughts about the soul, so that no evil influences can enter it. I have had the most marvellous talks with the dear ones who have passed over…”
Miss Climpson refilled the tea-pot and sent the waitress for a plate of sugary cakes.
“… unfortunately I am not mediumistic myself – not yet, that is. I can’t get anything when I’m alone. Mrs. Craig says that it will come by practice and concentration. Last night I was trying with the Ouija board, but it would only write spirals.”
“Your conscious mind is too active, I expect,” said Miss Climpson.
“Yes, I daresay that is it. Mrs. Craig say that I am wonderfully sympathetic. We get the most wonderful results when we sit together. Unfortunately she is abroad just now.”
Miss Climpson’s heart gave a great leap, so that she nearly spilled her tea.
“You yourself are a medium, then?” went on the nurse.
“I have been told so,” said Miss Climpson, guardedly.
“I wonder,” said the nurse, “whether if we sat together -”
She looked hungrily at Miss Climpson.
“I don’t really like -”
“Oh, do! You are such a sympathetic person. I’m sure we should get good results. And the spirits are so pathetically anxious to communicate. Of course, I wouldn’t like to try unless I was sure of the person. There are so many fraudulent mediums about” – (“So you do know that much!” thought Miss Climpson) – “but with somebody like yourself one is absolutely safe. You would find it made such a difference in your life. I used to be so unhappy over all the pain and misery in the world – we see so much of it, you know – till I realised the certainty of survival and how all our trials are merely sent to fit us for life on a higher plane.”
“Well,” said Miss Climpson, slowly, “I’m willing just to try. But I can’t say I really believe in it, you know.”
“You would – you would.“
Of course, I’ve seen one or two strange things happen – things that couldn’t be tricks, because I knew the people – and which I couldn’t explain -”
“Come up and see me this evening, now do!” said the nurse, persuasively. “We’ll just have one quiet sitting and then we shall see whether you really are a medium. I’ve no doubt you are.”
“Very well,” said Miss Climpson. “What is your name, by the way?”
“Caroline Booth – Miss Caroline Booth. I’m nurse to an old, paralysed lady hthe big house along the Kendal Road.”
“Thank goodness for that, anyway, thought Miss Climpson. Aloud she said:
“And my name is Climpson; I think I’ve got a card somewhere. No – I’ve left it behind. But I’m staying at Hillside View. How do I get to you?”
Miss Booth mentioned the address and the time of the ’bus, and added an invitation to supper, which was accepted. Miss Climpson went home and wrote a hurried note:
“my dear lord peter -
I am sure you have been wondering what has happened to me. But at last I have news! I have stormed the citadel!!! I am going to the house tonight and you may expect great things!!!
In haste,
Yours very sincerely,
Katharine A. Climpson.
Miss Climpson went out into the town again after lunch. First, being an honest woman, she retrieved her – sketchbook from “Ye Cosye Corner” and paid her bill, explaining that she had run across a friend that morning and been detained. She then visited a number of shops. Eventually she selected a small metal soap-box which suited her requirements. Its sides were slightly convex, and when closed and pinched slightly, it sprang back with a hearty cracking noise. This, with a little contrivance and some powerful sticking-plaster, she fixed to a strong elastic garter. When clasped about Miss Climpson’s bony knee and squeezed sharply against the other knee, the box emitted a series of cracks so satisfying as to convince the most sceptical. Miss Climpson, seated before the looking-glass, indulged in an hour’s practice before tea, till the crack could be produced with the minimum of physical jerk.
Another purchase was a length of stiff black-bound wire, such as is used for making hat-brims. Used double, neatly bent to a double angle and strapped to the wrist, this contrivance as sufficient to rock a light table. The weight of a heavy table would be too much for it, she feared, but she had had no time to order blacksmith’s work. She could try, anyway. She hunted out a black velvet rest-gown with long, wide sleeves, and satisfied herself that the wires could be sufficiently hidden.
At six o’clock, she put on this garment, fastened the soap-box to her leg – turning the box outward, lest untimely cracks should startle her fellow-travellers, muffled herself in a heavy rain-cloak of Inverness cut, took hat and umbrella and started on her way to steal Mrs. Wrayburn’s will.