"Your thought was very natural. But I think I can prove to you
that you are mistaken."
Mr. Vincent glanced at Mrs. Stapleton with an almost imperceptible
frown, then back at Laurie.
"Let me see, Mr. Baxter.... Is there anyone on earth besides yourself
who knew that you had sat out, about ten days ago or so, under some
yew trees in your garden at home, and thought of this young girl--that
you--"
Laurie looked at him in dumb dismay; some little sound broke from his
mouth.
"Well, is that enough, Mr. Baxter?"
Lady Laura slid in a sentence here.
"Dear Mr. Baxter, you need not be in the least alarmed. All that has
passed here is, of course, as sacred as in the confessional. We should
not dream, without your leave--"
"One moment," gasped the boy.
He drove his face into his hands and sat overwhelmed.
Presently he looked up.
"But I knew it," he said. "I knew it. It was just my own self which
spoke."
The medium smiled.
"Yes," he said, "of course that is the first answer." He placed one
hand on the table, leaning forward, and began to play his fingers as
if on a piano. Laurie watched the movement, which seemed vaguely
familiar.
"Can you account for that, Mr.
Pages:
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104