Rinehart, Mary Roberts, 1876-1958 / 2008-09-10 00:00:00


But at no time, although incredible things happened, did any one
of us glimpse that strange world of the spirit that seemed so often
almost within our range of vision.
Miss Jeremy, the medium, was due at 8:30 and at 8:20 my wife assisted
Mrs. Dane into one of the straight chairs at the table, and Sperry,
sent out by her, returned with a darkish bundle in his arms, and
carrying a light bamboo rod.
"Don't ask me what they are for," he said to Herbert's grin of
amusement. "Every workman has his tools."
Herbert examined the rod, but it was what it appeared to be, and
nothing else.
Some one had started the phonograph in the library, and it was
playing gloomily, "Shall we meet beyond the river?" At Sperry's
request we stopped talking and composed ourselves, and Herbert, I
remember, took a tablet of some sort, to our intense annoyance,
and crunched it in his teeth. Then Miss Jeremy came in.
She was not at all what we had expected. Twenty-six, I should say,
and in a black dinner dress. She seemed like a perfectly normal
young woman, even attractive in a fragile, delicate way. Not much
personality, perhaps; the very word "medium" precludes that. A
"sensitive," I think she called herself. We were presented to her,
and but for the stripped and bare room, it might have been any
evening after any dinner, with bridge waiting.
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