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Updated: May 27, 2025
On a march evening, at eight o'clock, Backhouse, the medium a fast-rising star in the psychic world was ushered into the study at Prolands, the Hampstead residence of Montague Faull. The room was illuminated only by the light of a blazing fire. The host, eying him with indolent curiosity, got up, and the usual conventional greetings were exchanged.
Backhouse, on the contrary, was a novelty to the merchant. As he tranquilly studied him through half closed lids and the smoke of a cigar, he wondered how this little, thickset person with the pointed beard contrived to remain so fresh and sane in appearance, in view of the morbid nature of his occupation. "Do you smoke?" drawled Faull, by way of starting the Conversation. "No?
Perhaps I ought to explain.... There will be ladies present, and ladies, you know, are aesthetically inclined." "In that case I have no objection. I only hope they will enjoy the performance to the end." He spoke rather dryly. "Well, that's all right, then," said Faull. Flicking his cigar into the fire, he got up and helped himself to whisky. "Will you come and see the room?" "Thank you, no.
Faull beckoned Backhouse behind a wing of scenery, and handed him his check without a word. The medium put it in his pocket, buttoned his coat, and walked out of the room. Lang followed him, in order to get a drink. The stranger poked his face up into Maskull's. "Well, giant, what do you think of it all? Wouldn't you like to see the land where this sort of fruit grows wild?" "What sort of fruit?"
Everyone turned round. Faull rose to welcome the late arrivals. Backhouse also stood up, and stared hard at them. The two strangers remained standing by the door, which was closed quietly behind them. They seemed to be waiting for the mild sensation caused by their appearance to subside before advancing into the room.
"Did you, or did you not, give me carte blanche, Montague?" "Of course I did," said Faull, laughing. "But what's the matter?" "Perhaps I have been rather presumptuous. I don't know. I have invited a couple of friends to join us. No, no one knows them.... The two most extraordinary individuals you ever saw. And mediums, I am sure." "It sounds very mysterious. Who are these conspirators?"
Trent gave a low scream. The ghostly visitor opened his eyes, looked at Faull strangely, and sat up on the couch. A cryptic smile started playing over his mouth. Faull looked at his hand; a feeling of intense pleasure passed through his body. Maskull caught Mrs. Jameson in his arms; she was attacked by another spell of faintness. Mrs. Trent ran forward, and led her out of the room.
All felt that he might sit up at any minute. "Stop that music!" muttered Backhouse, tottering from his chair and facing the party. Faull touched the bell. A few more bars sounded, and then total silence ensued. "Anyone who wants to may approach the couch," said Backhouse with difficulty. Lang at once advanced, and stared awestruck at the supernatural youth.
Nightspore turned his back, but everyone else stared at the intruder in astonishment. He took another few steps forward, which brought him to the edge of the theatre. "May I ask, sir, how I come to have the honour of being your host?" asked Faull sullenly. He thought that the evening was not proceeding as smoothly as he had anticipated.
I swear I will tell you not another word about them. They will be here directly, and then I will deliver them to your tender mercy." "I don't know them," said Faull, "and nobody else seems to, but, of course, we will all be very pleased to have them.... Shall we wait, or what?" "I said nine, and it's past that now. It's quite possible they may not turn up after all.... Anyway, don't wait."
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