"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 arm-chair, 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.
"Now kindly do not speak one word or make one movement," said the man
peremptorily. "Wait! You're perfectly sure you're not hypnotized, or
any other nonsense?"
"Certainly not."
"Just go round the room, look out of the window, poke the
fire--anything you like."
"I'm satisfied," said the boy.
"Very good. Then kindly watch that pencil."
The medium leaned a little forward in his chair, bending his eyes
steadily upon the little wooden cylinder lying, like any other pencil,
on the top of the table. Laurie glanced once at him, then back
again. There it lay, common and ordinary.
For at least a minute nothing happened at all, except that from the
intentness of the elder man there seemed once more to radiate out that
curious air of silence that Laurie was beginning to know so well--that
silence that seemed impenetrable to the common sounds of the world and
to exist altogether independent of them.
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