an object resembling a tiny heart-shaped table on three wheeled legs, perhaps four or five inches across. Through the center ran a pencil perpendicularly of which the point just touched the tablecloth on which the thing rested. Laurie looked at it, and glanced up.
“Yes, that’s planchette,” said the medium.
“For … for automatic writing?”
The other nodded.
“Yes,” he said. “The experimenter puts his fingers lightly upon that, and there’s a sheet of paper beneath. That is all.”
Laurie looked at him, half curiously. Then with a sudden movement he stood up.
“Yes,” he said. “Thank you. But—”
“Please sit down, Mr. Baxter. … I know you haven’t come about that kind