Artfully he led the conversation along lines that interested the
old man until he seemed to forget the hour. Not so, Craig. He
knew it was nearing half-past twelve. The more they talked the
more uncanny did this house and room of spirits seem to me. In
fact, I was rapidly reaching the point where I could have sworn
that once or twice something incorporeal brushed by me. I know
now that it was purely imagination, but it shows what tricks the
imagination can play on us.
Rap! rap! rap! rap! rap!
Five times came a curiously hollow noise from the cabinet. If it
had been possible I should certainly have fled, it was so sudden
and unexpected. The hall clock downstairs struck the half-hour in
those chimes written by Handel for St. Paul's.
Craig leaned over to me and whispered hoarsely, "Keep perfectly
still--don't move a hand or foot."
The old man seemed utterly to have forgotten us. "Is that you,
John?" he asked expectantly.
Rap! rap! rap! came the reply.
"Is Mary strong enough to speak to me to-night?"
Rap! rap!
"Is she happy?"
Rap! rap!
"What makes her unhappy? What does she want? Will you spell it
out?"
Rap! rap! rap!
Then, after a pause, the rapping started slowly, and distinctly
to spell out words. It was so weird and uncanny that I scarcely
breathed.
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