Irene moved into the room with a stately tread. Adam got to his feet. Gilbert Smith did the same and proceeded to hold the medium's chair for her.

"Thank you, Mr. Smith." Irene sat down and looked at the housekeeper. "You may leave us now, Bess."

"Yes, ma'am." Bess took herself out into the hall and closed the door.

The only light left in the room was the weak gleam of the lamp in the center of the table.

"Will you all please place your hands upon the table as I am doing," Irene instructed. She flattened both palms in plain view on the cloth-covered surface.

So much for having the opportunity to hold Caroline's hand, Adam thought.

"I ask that no one remove his or her hands from the table until the séance is completed," Irene continued. "This ensures that there is no trickery involved."

It did not ensure any such thing, Adam knew. But the others, with the probable exception of Caroline, seemed to accept that having all hands in view at all times was a guarantee against duplicity.

The rappings began immediately, faint pings and a loud thump that caused Miss Brick and Mrs. Trent to gasp.

The sounds came from a variety of locations around the room, including the corners and beneath the table.

"What is it?" Mrs. Trent asked in an awed voice.

"Do not be alarmed," Irene said. "It is only my spirit guide letting us know that he is present. His name is Sennefer. He was once a priest in ancient Egypt. He possesses a vast store of secret, arcane knowledge. I am his medium. Through me he will communicate with you as it pleases him. But first I must go into a trance."

She began to tremble violently, very much as she had at the spirit writing demonstration. She jerked and twitched.

Her head twisted back and forth with sharp movements.

Adam watched her hands closely. They remained firmly planted on the cloth-covered surface. Utterly motionless.

The table suddenly shuddered and rose a few inches off the floor.

"Astonishing,^" Gilbert Smith whispered.

"Good heavens, it is floating in midair." Some of Miss Brick's enthusiasm had turned to anxiety.

"All hands must remain on the top of the table," Irene barked in a deeper, more resonant tone that presumably emanated from Sennefer.

Adam quickly counted hands. All were still clearly in view, including Irenes.

The table descended back to the floor. Irene Toller's fingers were all still in precisely the same position they had been in a moment ago, Adam noticed.

"Look," shrieked Mrs. Trent. "There is something up there."

Adam followed her shocked, wondering gaze toward the ceiling directly above the table. He could just barely make out a silvery, pale, faintly glowing shape floating in the darkness above their heads. It drifted about in a ghostly fashion and then vanished.

"Dear heaven, what is that?" Miss Brick whispered.

A corpse-pale hand had risen up beside the table next to Irene Toller. As they watched, it reached out and gently tapped Miss Brick on the shoulder. She gave a startled little screech.

"Do not be afraid," Irene said firmly. "The spirit means you no harm"

Miss Brick sat very still, her eyes huge in the shadows. The deathly white hand descended back out of sight beneath the table.

"It touched me" Miss Brick sounded awed. "The manifestation actually touched me."

Before anyone else could react, another series of raps and pings ensued. It was followed by the faint tinkle of chimes.

"Sennefer says that was the manifestation of a spirit who wishes to communicate with some sitters at this table." Irene broke off, squeezing her eyes shut. Her face contorted. And then her eyes popped open very wide in a disconcerting stare. "It wishes to send a message to Mrs. Trent and to Miss Brick."

Mrs. Trent was clearly unnerved. "I don't understand." "Who is it?" Miss Brick asked, equally uneasy. The chimes clashed.

"This message is from…" Irene spoke haltingly, in little bursts of words, as though she was attempting to interpret some sort of otherworldly telegraphy. "A friend. Yes, it is the spirit of a friend who made her transition sometime in the past year or so."

Mrs. Trent stiffened. "Oh, heavens, is it Mrs. Selby?" Miss Brick stiffened and peered around the room. "Is that you, Helen?"

There was another series of raps and chimes.

"Helen Selby sends you both her regards," Irene said. More pings and clicks.

"She says that she can offer you some useful advice concerning your finances."

"That would be wonderful," Mrs. Trent said, enthusiastic once more.

"What is it you want to tell us?" Miss Brick asked of the room at large.

Taps, raps and bells sounded.

"You will encounter a gentleman in the near future," Irene intoned. "He will offer you an investment opportunity. If you accept, you will become very rich within the year."

"What is the name of this gentleman?" Mrs. Trent demanded, dazed and excited.

A rapid series of raps ensued.

"I cannot say," Irene declared in her forceful voice. "But you will recognize him because he will tell you that he was once acquainted with Helen Selby. When you identify yourselves as two of her old friends, he will invite you to take advantage of the investment opportunity."

"Helen, we do not know how to thank you," Miss Brick whispered.

Gilbert Smith peered around eagerly. "I say, would there be any objection to my participating in the investment, Mrs. Selby? My name is Gilbert Smith. I realize we were never acquainted while you were alive, but we do seem to have met now, as it were"

A violent clashing of chimes and raps interrupted him. The noise stopped suddenly.

Irene fixed Gilbert Smith with her grim, staring gaze. "Helen Selby's spirit is angered by your greed, Mr. Smith. She says that you will not be contacted."

"I see," Smith muttered. "Well, it was worth a try."

An eerie squeak that sounded to Adam suspiciously like a poorly oiled door hinge echoed from the corner of the room. All heads turned in that direction.

At that moment Adam felt the table once again elevate a few inches into the air. It trembled and then lowered itself back down to the floor. There was a series of quick taps followed by a ripple of the chimes.

"Another spirit wishes to communicate with someone at this table," Irene said. "This one has a message for Mrs. Fordyce."

Adam was aware of Caroline going still beside him. "Who is the spirit?" she asked quietly.

Tiny raps and pings sounded.

"It is not very clear." Irene gave every appearance of concentrating fiercely.

More faint rappings.

"A man, I believe," Irene said hesitantly. "A gentle-man… ah, yes, now I have it. It is the spirit of your late husband."

Caroline sat frozen in her chair.

Rage swept through Adam. The silly game had gone on long enough, he thought. How dare the fraud torment Caroline with so-called messages from her dead husband? He would put an end to this nonsense immediately.

"No, please," Caroline whispered, evidently having guessed his intent. "It is all right. I do not mind. In fact, I am eager to hear what my dear Jeremy has to say. His death was so sudden. We did not have an opportunity to say farewell."

Adam hesitated. His instinct was to take her away from this place at once, but he sensed that she would not come with him willingly. This was her decision, he reminded himself. If she insisted on staying here, he had no choice but to remain with her. She was an intelligent woman. Surely she understood that Irene Toller was playing a distinctly unpleasant parlor game.

On the other hand, grief for a beloved spouse lost to an untimely death could make even the most sensible, level-headed person easy prey for a charlatan such as Toller.

Damnation, he fumed. He had no one to blame but him-self for what was happening. If he had not dragged Caroline into this affair, she would not be here tonight.