“You see what I mean, don’t you?” he said. “I’m not disputing—er—your point of view, nor your sincerity. But I do wish you would give me another proof or two.”
“You haven’t had enough?”
“Oh! I suppose I have—if I were reasonable. But, you know, it all seems to me as if you suddenly demonstrated to me that twice two made five.”
“But then, surely no proof—”
“Yes; I know. I quite see that. Yet I want one—something quite absolutely ordinary. If you can do all these things—spirits and all the rest—can’t you do something ever so much simpler, that’s beyond mistake?”
“Oh, I daresay. But wouldn’t you ask yet another after that?”
“I don’t know.”
“Or wouldn’t you think you’d been hypnotized?”
Laurie shook his head.
“I’m not a fool,” he said.
“Then give me that pencil,” said the medium, suddenly extending his hand.
Laurie stared a moment. Then he handed over the pencil.
On the little table by the armchair, a couple of feet from Laurie, stood the whisky apparatus and a box of cigarettes. These the medium, without moving from his chair, lifted off and set on the floor beside him, leaving the woven-grass surface of the table entirely bare. He then laid the pencil gently in the center—all without a word. Laurie watched him carefully.