"Well, yes, I suppose so," she said, obviously reluctant to place too much responsibility in his hands. "Now then, regarding the séance, you do realize that the sitters are expected to follow certain rules that are understood by every-one present, do you not?"

"Let me hazard a guess concerning séance etiquette. I'll wager that no one is to question the effects produced by the medium, no matter how bizarre or outrageous they might be. Am I correct?"

"Quite correct."

"Perhaps in my role as your research assistant, I could get away with striking a light or turning over the table to examine the fittings underneath," he mused.

"Do not even consider it, sir." She gave him a quelling look. "May I remind you that we are not attending the séance so that you can have the satisfaction of exposing the medium. We will be there for the sole purpose of providing you with a close look at Mrs. Toller and the interior plan of her house."

He inclined his head. "Thank you for reminding me of my priorities in this affair."

Irene Toller's house was located on a quiet street in a modest neighborhood. Adam noted that the upstairs and most of the ground floor were dark. A pale, eerie glow shone through the decorative glass panes above the door.

"Mrs. Toller evidently does not believe in wasting money on lighting," he said to Caroline.

"Hers is a business that thrives in poor light.^"

The housekeeper, a middle-aged woman of short stature

and compact build, answered the door. She wore a dress of some dull, black fabric that lacked any hint of luster. A white apron and a cap completed her uniform.

"This way, please," the woman said. "You are the last to arrive. The séance will begin shortly. You can pay me Mrs. Toller's fee now."

Adam caught a whiff of lavender scent. There was something vaguely familiar about the woman, he thought as he handed over the money. He did not recognize her face but he was certain that he knew her voice and the set of those sturdy shoulders.

It came to him as he followed her into the parlor. He gave Caroline a quick glance. She nodded, letting him know that she, too, recognized the woman.

Toller's housekeeper had been the widow in heavy mourning at yesterday's demonstration at Wintersett House; the one who had asked about the location of her late husband's missing shares of stock. Evidently, in addition to her traditional duties, she worked as the medium's assistant.

Adam followed Caroline into a small, over furnished parlor. A fire warmed the hearth. A photograph of the queen dressed in mourning hung above the mantel.

Two of the other sitters were women of a certain age. They introduced themselves as Miss Brick and Mrs. Trent. Both were gray-haired and dressed in sensible woolen gowns.

The third person was a fidgety man of about thirty-five who gave his name as Gilbert Smith.

Smith had pale blue eyes and lank, nondescript reddish-blond hair that was almost the same color as his ruddy complexion. His coat, shirt, waistcoat and trousers were ordinary in terms of quality and cut.

None of the three so much as blinked when Adam gave his name as Mr. Grove. He was satisfied that they did not recognize him. Not that he had expected any difficulty in that regard, he thought. This was not the world he inhabited.

There was, however, a small murmur of excitement from the two ladies when Caroline was introduced.

"I am delighted to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Fordyce," Miss Brick exclaimed, animated and energetic. "Mrs. Trent and I do so enjoy your stories.^"

"Yes, indeed." Mrs. Trent put her hands together in de-light. "That Edmund Drake is such a dreadful villain. I cannot wait to see what happens to him. Perhaps you will have him fall off his horse and tumble down a huge cliff into the sea?"

Adam noticed that Gilbert Smith had stopped toying with his walking stick. He was studying Caroline with thinly veiled interest.

"I rather like the notion of having Drake get shot by the hero, Jonathan St. Claire," Miss Brick said eagerly. "That way you could describe Drake's dying groans and the expression of agony and remorse on his face"

"Thank you for the suggestions,^" Caroline said in a light, polite way that did not invite further advice. "But I already have an end in mind for my villain. I trust it will prove to be a surprise for everyone" She smiled. "Especially Edmund Drake."

Adam felt his back teeth close tightly together. It occurred to him that every time Edmund Drake was mentioned, he clenched his jaw. It was becoming an exceedingly disturbing habit.

He forced a humorless grin. "Perhaps Mrs. Fordyce in-tends to astonish us all by having Drake avoid the usual unfortunate demise meted out to villains."

Miss Brick and Mrs. Trent stared at him as if he had gone mad.

"Talk about your startling incidents," he continued, warming to his own notion. "Only consider the effect on readers if she transformed Drake into the hero who saves the day and marries the heroine."

"I cannot imagine her doing any such thing," Mrs. Trent said with conviction.

"Of course not," Miss Brick added briskly. "Turn the villain into a hero? Unthinkable."

Gilbert Smith gave Adam a speculative look. "May I ask what your interest is in tonight's séance, sir?"

"Mr. Grove is my assistant," Caroline said very smoothly before Adam could respond.

Smith frowned. "What does a writer's assistant do?" "You'd be amazed," Adam said.

Smith gave up on him and switched back to Caroline. "I confess that I am curious to know why an author would wish to attend a séance, Mrs. Fordyce."

"One of the characters who will appear in my next novel is a medium," Caroline explained. "I thought it would be a good idea to experience a few séances and observe some examples of psychical phenomena before I write those scenes."

Miss Brick was impressed. "You are here to do research?" "Yes," Caroline said.

"How exciting."

Smith shot another veiled, searching look at Adam. "And you are assisting her in this research?"

"I find my work extremely interesting," Adam said. "Never a dull moment."

The housekeeper loomed like a spirit manifestation in the doorway.

"It is time," she announced with a suitably portentous air. "Mrs. Toller is ready to begin the séance. Please follow me."

They followed her down another shadowy hall. Adam used the opportunity to note the location of the rear stairs and the entrance to the kitchen.

Midway along the corridor, the housekeeper opened a door. One by one the sitters filed into a darkened room and took their places at a cloth-draped table.

A single lamp burned in the center of the table. It had been turned down as low as possible. The dim light did not begin to penetrate the thick dark shadows that draped the room.

Adam assisted Caroline into a chair and then sat down beside her.

He noticed at once that the heavy cloth that covered the table made it impossible to reach surreptitiously underneath to feel for hidden springs and other devices. In a similar fashion the general gloom prohibited a close survey of the walls, ceiling and floor. Nevertheless, there was some-thing wrong about the proportions of the séance room. The space felt smaller than it should have been, judging by the distance they had walked down the hall.

A false wall and perhaps a lowered ceiling, he concluded. "Good evening," Irene Toller said.

She stood in the doorway, silhouetted against the light. Adam knew that he was no connoisseur of ladies' fashions but, even from his limited perspective, Irene Toller's skirts appeared unusually voluminous. Caroline had explained that there was a common suspicion that fraudulent female mediums used wide, heavy skirts to conceal various apparatuses designed to create the desired effects in a séance.