"'Not allowed' is sometimes a mere figure of speech," and Mr. Crane smiled, too. "However, I was allowed to see her and have a real séance– oh, Helen," he turned to his wife, "I can scarcely wait to go there again and have you go with me."
"Father, I can't stand this!" Julie's eyes were blazing. "Please drop the subject – at least, for the present."
"There, there, my daughter, don't lose your temper. If you don't want to hear about this, you may be excused." He smiled at her lovingly but with a decided intention.
"You're all interested, are you not?" he went on, turning to the various attentive faces, and receiving nods and words of assent.
"Then I'll go on," and he glanced at Julie, who sat still, controlling her expression of face but with tumult in her heart.
"Take it easy," Shelby whispered to her, "you'd better hear it, you know, whatever it's all about."
"The lady," Crane said, "is a medium, well recommended by members of the Society for Psychical Research, and by individuals who have been her clients."
"What sort of recommendations does she offer?" asked an interested voice, "letters?"
The speaker was McClellan Thorpe, a friend of Blair's, who shared a studio with him.
Thorpe was frankly skeptical, but by no means controversial. He asked his question in an honest desire to know of the credentials.
"Yes," returned Crane, "letters from many well-known Spiritists, Psychics, Scientists and plain citizens, who are enthusiastic and sincere in their praise of this lady."
"What's her name?" asked Mrs. Crane, who, it was plain to be seen, fairly hung upon her husband's words.
"Madame Parlato," returned Crane. "She is no fraud, no charlatan, but a refined, gracious lady, whose sympathies are as wonderful as her occult gifts."
Carlotta Harper, who sat by Thorpe, was absorbed in the tale, and her large dark eyes glowed, with intense interest as she listened.
"Tell us just what happened," she said, and Julie gave her a look of mingled scorn and apprehension.
"I will," Crane's deep voice went on. "The lady, you understand, knew nothing of me or of Peter. I was careful about this, for I know there are unscrupulous mediums, and I wanted to feel sure of this one's honesty."
"How do you know she'd never heard of you?" asked Thorpe. He had a manner of speaking that was definite without being annoying. Apparently he was curious, and not, necessarily, incredulous.
"How could she?" returned Crane, "we have no mutual friends. I heard of her through a comparative stranger, and I went to her at once. Don't be carping, Thorpe, just wait till you hear my story. Well, she greeted me pleasantly, and with a most courteous and lady-like demeanor. I had an appointment, of course, and she directed me to sit at a table opposite herself. I did so, and for quite a time nothing happened.
"Then – she was not exactly in a trance, I should say, but rather she seemed absorbed in deep thought – she said, 'I see a man, a fair-haired man with a sunny, boyish smile. Do you recognize that description?' I didn't say much, for I'm no fool to give myself away, you understand, but I nodded assent, and she went on: 'He seems very active, full of life and energy, and of a loving, affectionate nature.' You may guess how I felt when she described Peter so exactly! I wanted to exclaim, 'Yes, that's my boy!' but I'm always careful not to help in any way. So I just nodded, and she went on. 'He passed away about two or three months ago, and he seems willing to communicate with me. What shall I ask him?'
"Now, I'm canny, you know, and I said, 'Make sure of his identity first. Ask him what name we used to call him by?' And, will you believe it? after a short pause, she said, 'Peter Boots!' She seemed surprised herself at such a name. I thought I ought to tell her how true that was, so I did. She looked pleased to think it was all right, and waited for me to ask another question. So I said, 'Ask him how he died.' She did, and he told her he was frozen to death in a fearful snowstorm. Think of that! And I said, 'Ask him how it happened.' And she did, and Peter said he couldn't exactly say – he lost consciousness, and he knew nothing more until he found himself on the other side. He said for me not to grieve, for he should carry on over there all he had attempted to do here. He said he retained all his ambition and energy and hope – you know he was blessed abundantly with those traits – and – "
"Did he say he was happy?" asked Mrs. Crane, eagerly.
"He said he was content, and though it was all a little strange as yet, he was becoming accustomed to that life and did not wish to return."
"Did he send any message to me?" urged the anxious mother.
"I'm coming to that, dear. Yes, he said for you not to grieve for him, but to think of him as busy and happy and entirely contented. Oh, Helen, isn't it wonderful? I arranged for another séance, and you shall go with me. She held out a hope of materialization later, but she wasn't sure she could compass that for some time to come. You needn't look skeptical, Thorpe; that expression on your face only proves your ignorance of these things. I tell you, man, if it were somebody you loved and cherished you'd be mighty glad to hear from him!"
"Never mind my expression, Mr. Crane," Thorpe returned, looking apologetic, "I'm deeply interested, I can tell you, and I'd like to hear more."
"There's little more to tell. It was a quiet session – none of that curtained cabinet, tambourine-playing business, you understand; but a plain revelation from my boy's spirit through the medium of a refined, cultured woman. I'm sorry, now, I didn't take my wife with me to-day, but I feared it might not be so agreeable, and I tried it out myself first. But we will go together soon."
Crane beamed happily, and it was impossible not to rejoice with him in his delight and satisfaction at his experience.
Julie, her lips pressed tightly together, made no comment on her father's story. Christopher Shelby, who sat beside her, eyed her covertly, not quite decided whether to speak to her on the subject or not.
He concluded to do so, and whispered, "How does it all strike you?"
"I don't know," she returned, passing her hand across her white brow with a wearied gesture. "If it had been those foolish cabinet affairs I should have been disgusted, but the really nice woman, – as father describes her, – and he never misrepresents, – gives a slightly different face on it. Still, I can't believe – "
"Shall you go to the next séance?"
"I haven't been asked. I doubt if they'll want me. I wonder what Carly thinks of it all."
But Carlotta was talking with Blair and Mr. Thorpe, and their conversation had no connection with the subject in hand. They were discussing a wedding of two of their mutual friends, which had proved a surprise to them all. Blair and Julie joined that discussion, and the matter of the séance was not again referred to by the young people.
But on the way home Thorpe spoke his mind to Blair, who accompanied him.
"How can a sensible, otherwise well-balanced man like Benjamin Crane fall for that fake?" he exclaimed. "I've known Mr. Crane for years and he never showed signs of paresis before!"
"I don't attempt to explain it," returned Blair, casually, "but I do know that lots of other equally hard-headed citizens are tarred with the same brush."
"That's true enough, but this is the first time I've run up against it so closely. I say, Blair, how did the lingo tally with the facts of Peter's death? Or would you rather not talk about it?"
"I don't mind talking about it at all. Why should I, among Peter's friends? As to facts, we know none ourselves except that he was lost in the snow. You've no idea of that snow, Thorpe! It was like a thick, white feather-bed, falling, falling continually. It was impenetrable to sight or hearing. The wind blew it about some, but it fell so thickly that it seemed a solid mass that we struggled through. And it was quite all we could do to get along – "
"Oh, don't think for a minute I feel you were in the least derelict! I know you weren't. It merely chanced that Peter's heart gave out – or whatever it was that did happen – while he was the last one of the procession."
"And not only that. If, say, I'd fallen, a man behind might not have seen me go down. If we swerved ever so little from a straight line, and, of course, we did, – couldn't help it, – we lost sight for a moment of the man in front. And as we all went along, eyes down or closed much of the time, we might have lost a man who wasn't walking last. I wish I could make you see it, Mac! See the traveling, I mean. I've never progressed against such difficulties."
"I know, old chap. Do get out of your head that anybody blames any of you in the least. And if they did, the blame would fall on the guide, not on you fellows."
"Joshua was not a bit to blame either. Surely you see that. It was every man for himself, – and – fate took the hindmost! Oh, I hate to think about it! It's even worse to me now than when it happened. The more I think about it the more I grieve for dear old Peter. We were good pals, you know."
"I know it; we all were. Mighty few chaps like Peter Boots!"
CHAPTER VI
Strange Revelations
"Old man Crane's gone nutty," Shelby remarked.
"Been going for some time," agreed Blair, and McClellan Thorpe nodded his head decidedly.
The three sat in the studio apartment occupied by Blair and Thorpe, who had just returned from dining at their club.
Shelby had come home with them, but was soon to leave to keep an engagement.
"You'll scarcely believe what I'm up to to-night," Shelby went on, "I'm going to a séance with Mr. Crane."
"I say, Kit," remonstrated Thorpe, "I don't think you ought to encourage him. He's daft enough on the subject now, and your approval makes him worse."
"I'm trying to stop him," Shelby said, quietly. "I think if I go to the fool thing I can see how she works it and tell Mr. Crane, and he'll be convinced of her trickery."
"Are you convinced of it?" asked Thorpe.
"I've never seen this one, but it's my opinion all professional mediums are fakes," Shelby replied, seriously; "it may not be so, but I believe I can tell after one investigation. I shall pretend to be greatly impressed and all that, but I'll keep my eyes open. And I'm not going to upset Mr. Crane unnecessarily. But if I think she's just fooling him along for the money that's in it, I'm going to tell him so."
"Even at that," Blair put in, "maybe it's worth the money to him to be fooled. He's rich enough."
"Maybe. But I hate to see a man swindled. However, I've agreed to go with him once, and I'm glad to go. Good-by, I'll report results later."
"You see," Blair said to Thorpe after Shelby had gone, "Kit and I can't help feeling a sort of responsibility for this fad of Mr. Crane's. It may be foolish and sentimental, but we feel an interest in Peter's father, and we watch over him as if Peter had asked us to do so, which, of course, he never did."
"But the medium business is such awful rubbish," objected Thorpe.
"It is and it isn't," Blair said, musingly. "It's six weeks now since we came home, and all that time Mr. Crane has been receiving messages from Peter, and every one of them that I've heard are sane and believable. Moreover, Carlotta Harper has almost convinced me there's something in it. That girl is a sort of medium herself. She denies it, says she only uses her common sense, but I think she's clairvoyant."
"There's a heap of difference between being clairvoyant, in a common sense way, and being a fake medium! I don't care what Miss Harper does with a foolish Ouija Board, but I'm like Kit Shelby, I hate to see Benjamin Crane stung by a wily faker!"
Meantime Mr. Benjamin Crane was altogether enjoying the process that Thorpe called stinging.
Shelby, deeply interested, and looking innocently credulous, sat by while the medium conducted the séance.
Madame Parlato was, as Crane had asserted, a quiet-mannered, refined looking woman, of a gracious and pleasant personality. She was tall and fair, rather English in type, and spoke with a noticeable English accent. She frequently ended sentences of simple statement with a rising inflection and was addicted to the use of the word very, which she pronounced virry.
"You are a bit skeptical?" she said, with a careless glance at Shelby.
"Only by reason of lack of occasions for belief," he returned. "I am, however, open-minded and fair-minded enough to be willingly convinced. You may or may not know, this son of Mr. Crane's was one of my closest friends, and – "
"Don't advance information, please," she remonstrated, "lest I be thought to make use of it. I will ask you both to be quiet, whilst I compose myself."
"Hush up, Shelby," growled Crane, and Shelby did.
The medium closed her eyes and leaned back in her armchair.
She did not seem to be asleep, but she breathed heavily and a trifle irregularly, and now and then gave a slight convulsive shudder.
At last she spoke, very slowly, and in a voice decidedly different from her own. Shelby couldn't quite make up his mind whether it seemed to him like Peter's voice or not.
The voice said, "I am here, father," and, after a moment's pause, repeated the words.
"Yes, yes," breathed Benjamin Crane, enthralled, as always, by the sound; "talk to me, Peter, tell me things."
"I can't talk much this time, father, it is hard to get through. There is some obstacle."
These words did not follow each other in natural succession, but came haltingly, with waits between. Madame Parlato seemed unconscious of the delays, and merely acted as a mouthpiece for the revelations.
"What sort of an obstacle?" asked Crane.
"An unbeliever is near," the voice hesitatingly asserted.
"Oh, I say!" exclaimed Shelby, "tell him who I am!"
"It's only Shelby," Mr. Crane said, "Kit Shelby. He's not really an unbeliever, only inexperienced."
"May I speak to him?" asked Shelby, as if permission were necessary.
"Go ahead," consented Mr. Crane.
"It's old Kit, Peter – Kit Shelby, who went on the trip with you."
"Oh, Kit – all right – all right, old fellow – can't say much to-night – something wrong – "
"Well, but Peter," Shelby begged, "give me some sort of a sign – a test, you know. I can't help wanting that."
"All right," very slowly, "what test."
"Let me see – well, tell me whose picture you carried in your watch case."
"Why, it was – Caroline – Caroline Harper."
Shelby looked dazed. True, they had never called Carly Caroline, but the Harper was undeniable, and the test quite near enough to the truth.
The medium sat still, save for frequent slight shivers. Suddenly she opened her eyes:
"Who is talking?" she said.
"I am," Shelby told her. "Please let me say a few more things."
Madame Parlato's eyes closed, and she was motionless.
"Are you still there, Peter?" asked his father, who was not at all pleased with the presence of Shelby. It seemed to interfere with the continuous talk he had hitherto enjoyed at the séances.
"Yes, father. Is Kit there?"
"Can't you see me, Peter?"
"Not – not clearly. There's a haze in the room."
There was no haze visible to the mortals present, but Shelby went eagerly on.
"Never mind seeing me, Peter, but do tell me this: What happened to you?"
"When?" asked the voice, with a far-away, fading sound.
"When – when you died, you know. Oh, Peter, don't go away until you tell us!"
"Tell you – tell you – what?"
"What killed you? How was it? Did you fall down?"'
"I – I fell down, yes."
"In the snowdrifts?"
"Yes, the snow was so cold – "
"But why couldn't you get up? What happened to you? Did any attack – "
"Yes, I was attacked. Attacked by a – "
"What!"
"By a wild animal of some sort."
"Oh, Peter! What was it? Are you sure?"
"No, not sure – but attack by – "
The voice grew fainter and more incoherent, and in a moment the medium sat up straight and shook her head.
"He was troubled," she said, "I could see him though you couldn't, and he was sad and worried."
"What about?" asked Shelby, abruptly.
"I'm not sure, but I think because he didn't want to tell the awful details of his death."
"What were they? Could you see them?"
"Yes," she pushed her loose hair back from her brow, as if exhausted. "Yes, I saw it like a picture, but like a clouded, indistinct picture. The poor chap was fighting a wild beast! Oh, it was fearful!" she shut her eyes and shook her head violently. "That's the worst of it, I see too clearly."
"Tell us more, then," begged Shelby. "How did Peter look?"
"Glorious, transfigured! His face was shining and his eyes sparkling."
"H'm – queer to look like that when he was so worried."
"Oh, that was before the anxious look came. It is, I fear, difficult for you to understand the conditions. The discarnate spirit has a sort of secondary personality, not unlike a hypnotic state, and sometimes this is jarred by any untoward influence and develops into a delirium, and the statements cannot then be relied on. A novice always expects a clear, definite style of speech from a spirit communicating through a medium. This is not always the case. And the medium must merely take what comes and repeat it without change or addition. If, therefore, you are disappointed, I cannot help it. Surely you would not wish me to embroider the messages I receive."
"Surely not," returned Shelby, "indeed, I think it wonderful that you succeeded in getting as much coherence and information as you did. It is something to know that Peter was attacked by a wild beast, for, horrible as is the news, it does explain why he couldn't proceed on the journey."
"Yes," agreed Mr. Crane. "And I am so avid for word from my boy, that even if the messages are disturbing and harrowing, I want them all. I have always told Madame Parlato not to spare me. I prefer to know the worst. For my boy is happy now. We have had several sittings; my wife has attended some, and they are always comforting because of Peter's assertions that he is now happy and contented."
At Shelby's urgent request, the medium endeavored to induce Peter's spirit to return for a further word.
Her success was only partial, but they did hear a message to Shelby direct.
"Persevere, Kit," Peter said, "you're doing right in that matter. Go ahead, Kit."
"Your voice sounds queer, Peter," Shelby said, frowning a little. "It used to be pitched in a higher key."
"It's the medium," came a reply, and the pitch was higher. "I don't mean the human medium, but the medium through which I must talk – the ether, I suppose it is. Good-by, Kit."
Madame Parlato then came out of her trance, or whatever term she used to designate her half-conscious state.
"The session is over," she said, pleasantly. "I fear, Mr. Crane, you did not get your usual degree of satisfaction from it, but that was because of a third party here. I don't think Mr. Shelby's antagonistic exactly, but he's – well, uncertain whether to believe what he hears or not."
"That's quite true, Madame," said Shelby, with due respect, "but you are doubtless accustomed to people in my frame of mind."
"Oh, yes," and the lady smiled a little, "but I trust, Mr. Shelby, you will come some time by yourself and let me see what I can do to help you make up your mind."
"I shall be glad to do that. You have a strange power, at any rate."
"Strange, yes; but by no means unique. There are minds tuned by nature to receive spirit messages, as wireless stations are tuned. I cannot explain my strange power, I marvel at it myself, but I recognize it, and I use it humbly and gratefully as a God-given treasure."
"And that's what it is!" declared Benjamin Crane. "I'm glad you came to-night, Shelby, but, after this, I admit I prefer to come alone, or with only my wife. The messages from Peter to his father are naturally more of a loving and domestic nature, and I revel in them."
"I don't wonder at that, Mr. Crane. And I congratulate you on having found such a capable and skillful medium."
Madame Parlato gave Shelby a quick glance, almost as if doubting his sincerity. But his frank, honest face reassured her, and she said:
"And, I'm proud to say, I'm not only a medium, but I am possessed of the power that is called impersonation or transfiguration. This is comparatively rare, and it enables me to perform what really seem like miracles. I am taken possession of by the departed subject, and I speak and act so perfectly with that other personality that sometimes I even resemble the person who is talking through me."
"It is indeed wonderful," Shelby said, and Benjamin Crane looked happily contemplative of the séances in the future when Madame would utilize this miraculous gift of hers in his behalf.
Shelby did go alone to see the medium, and it happened also that, about a week later, going again, he chanced to meet Mr. Crane there. The younger man offered to leave, but Crane said, "No, come along. Madame is going to try to-night to materialize Peter's face, and I want you here to see it."
And so the strange séance began.
Materialization, of course, called for a darkened room, and Shelby's naturally suspicious mind was alert for possible fraud.
But he could discover no chance for such. There was no cabinet, no tambourine, bell or trumpet, and no curtain was drawn or screen set up.
After they had sat in darkness and silence for a time, a face seemed to form in mid-air. It was a misty, vague countenance, and was wrapped about with a soft, floating drapery or veil, which exposed only the features.
"Peter!" exclaimed Benjamin Crane in a half-gasping voice. "My boy himself!"
"Peter Boots!" cried Shelby, and slowly the face vanished.
Not another word was spoken, and in a moment the lights were turned on. This was done by Madame Parlato, at whose elbow the light switch was.
"Did you see anything?" she asked, in an exhausted, harassed way, yet with an air of eagerness.
"Yes," cried out Crane. "I saw Peter, my own son!"
"I couldn't be sure," she went on, speaking wearily. "It always exhausts me utterly to induce a materialization, and I doubt if I can achieve anything more to-night."
"Nor do you need to," declared Mr. Crane. "That's enough for one séance. Some time you may do that again, and also get speech from him."
"May be," she rejoined, with a gentle politeness, "and now I should be glad to say good-night."
The two men walked off, Crane in a tumult of delight, Shelby wondering at it all.
"You accept marvels very easily, Mr. Crane," the latter said.
"Because they are marvels," said the older man simply. "If they were fraud it would be no marvel. But being genuine, it is a marvel, it is a miracle, and I am glad, rejoiced to accept it!"
It was soon after this that Shelby, calling on Carlotta Harper, asked her what she thought of it all.
"Rubbish," she replied flatly.
Shelby looked at her. "But," he said, "I've been told that you can work the Ouija Board wonderfully!"
"Work the Ouija Board! What sort of talk is that? Do you mean push it, to spell what I want it to?"
"No; I spoke carelessly. I mean use the Board with results that are surprising."
"Who can't do that?"
"Lots of people – myself, for one. Let's try it now, Carly. Will you?"
"Certainly, if you like. And, if you'll give me your word of honor that you won't voluntarily or purposely urge the thing in any direction or toward any letter."
"Of course I promise that! Where'd be the fun if we cheated? You promise, too?"
"Yes, indeed. Like you, I've no interest if either pushes the least mite."
They placed themselves with the board between them on their knees.
It was but a short time before the little heart-shaped block began to move.
Carly, who was no novice, said in a sing-song way: "Is there a spirit present?"
The board slid quickly to the corner marked "yes."
"Will you spell out your name?" Carly went on in a very matter-of-fact voice.
The pointer went from letter to letter, now hurriedly and now making wide circling sweeps, but it spelled correctly "Peter Boots."
Shelby kept most careful watch on Carly's finger-tips. He could see that there was no apparent muscle movement, no surreptitious pushing and no motion of any sort save to follow the moving board. Her hands were quite evidently resting as lightly as his own on the wood, and the board without doubt moved without the voluntary help of either.
"Shall we go on?" asked Carly, in a half whisper.
"Go on? Of course!" returned the other.
"Peter, have you a message for us?" Carly asked, again using that calm, uninflected tone.
"Yes," pointed the board, and then, as they settled down to receive it, the wooden heart spelled rapidly: "Do not grieve for me – I am happy."
Carlotta looked disappointed. "Oh, dear," she said, "I'm so tired of that message! I thought Peter would do better than that! Let's try again."
Again the board moved, and the message came, "Tell mother not to grieve – "
"Oh, Peter," Carlotta said, in real impatience, "do say something beside those stereotyped phrases! Tell us something we don't know, something about yourself."
"Tell us how you died," said Shelby, suddenly.
"Yes, tell us that," Carly repeated.
The board moved more slowly.
"I was," it spelled, and "Go on!" the girl urged "I was – in the snow – "
"Yes, yes – go on."
"And I fell down, and I – I – couldn't get up."
"Why not?" this sharply from Carly.
"H – " the board stopped; then went on, "Heart failure."
"I thought so!" exclaimed Shelby; "there aren't any wild animals up there in – "
"Hush – it's moving again," said Carly.
"Heart gave out," the board spelled, moving rapidly now. "Couldn't make the boys hear. Could only gurgle in my throat. Couldn't shout. So I died."
"Do you believe it?" asked Carly, her big, brown eyes solemn and serious.
"Yes, I do," said Shelby. "It's highly probable, anyway. Go on, Peter, tell us something else."
Whether Shelby "believed" or not, he was deeply interested, and his breath came faster as he saw the revealing letters spell various messages.
Both performers watched the four hands as the board moved under them. And, the most intense scrutiny could discover no voluntary movement or assistance to the uncanny instrument.
Many messages were of slight importance, and then came a sudden, "I say, Shelby, why don't you marry Carly?"
The girl gasped, then smiled, but Shelby looked up, dumbfounded.
"Oh, Carly," he said, "if you only would!"
"Hush!" she reproved him. "I'll put the board away if you do such things! You know you pushed it that time!"
"I didn't, Carly, truly – word of honor, I didn't! I'd no idea what was coming! Oh, Carly, darling, I love you, and – dear, whether Peter sent that message or not – won't you – can't you – "
They had risen, casting aside the board, and Shelby took her hands in his. "Dearest," he said, "I wanted to tell you, but I was waiting – for – for Peter's sake. Now – he wants it! So, dear heart – my little girl – won't you – "
"No," said Carlotta.