Sometimes the bedclothes would assume extraordinary shapes; sometimes
the articles on his dressing-table; sometimes his clothes; and once,
when he was about to put on his bedroom slippers, he found them
already occupied--occupied by icy cold feet. Another time, when he put
out his hand to take hold of a tumbler, he put it on the back of
another hand--smooth, cold and pulpy!
Hardly a night passed without some sort of manifestation happening to
one or other of the trio, and even Curtis--fat and stolid
Curtis--began to lose flesh and look harassed.
On the eve of the initiation into stage four, the three, separating
for the night, retired to their respective quarters in a far from
pleasant state of expectation.
Hamar was undressing, when there came a loud ring at the telephone,
outside his door.
"Holloa!" he called out, "who are you?"
"Are you Mr. Hamar?" a voice asked, breathlessly.
Hamar replied in the affirmative, and the voice continued--
"I'm Mrs. Anderson-Waite, of 30 Queen's Mansions, Queen's Gate. I have
been holding a seance here, with some of my friends, and most
extraordinary things have happened, and are still happening. There are
violent knockings on the wall and ceiling, and the table has become
positively dangerous. It has repeatedly sprung into the air, and
savagely assaulted several of the sitters. It has thrown one lady on
to the floor, and despite our efforts to prevent it, has rampled on
her so viciously that she is badly hurt, and the doctor who has just
arrived thinks very seriously of it.
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