Vargas casually dropped the wad of bills onto a table, as if money mattered not in the slightest to him personally, then led the group out of the parlor, down the gloomy hallway, and into a large room next to the one in which his consultations were held. The “spirit room,” as he called it, contained quite a few more furnishings and props than the other, these of greater variety and a more exotic nature.
The floor was covered by an Oriental carpet of dark blue and black design. More curtains made of the same ebon material as the two swindlers’ robes blotted a pair of windows; the gaslight had been turned down even lower than it had been in the consulting room, creating shadows in corners and along the low ceiling. The overheated air was permeated with the same incense that had tormented Sabina on her previous visits. The unpleasant scent in this room came from a different, larger burner perched on the fireplace mantel — a horsey-looking bronze monstrosity with tusks as well as equine teeth and a shaggy mane and beard.
The room’s centerpiece was an oval, highly polished table around which seven chairs were arranged. Six of them were straight-backed; the seventh was a twin of the high-seated one in which Vargas sat facing his acolytes during their individual consultations, except that its arms were raised on a level with that of the tabletop. In the middle of the table stood a clear-glass jar, inside of which a tiny silver bell was suspended.
Along the walls were a short, narrow cabinet of Oriental design, made of teak with an intricately inlayed top; a tall-backed rococo love seat; and an alabaster pedestal atop which sat a hideous bronze statue of an Egyptian male in full headdress — a representation, evidently, of the mythical Angkar. Atop the cabinet were a silver tray containing several bottles of various sizes and shapes, a tambourine, and a stack of children’s school slates with black wooden frames. Propped against the wall nearby was an ordinary-looking three-stringed guitar. And on the high seat of the armchair lay a coil of sturdy rope Sabina estimated to be some three yards in length.
When everyone was inside and loosely grouped near the table, Vargas closed the door, produced a large brass key from a pocket in his robe, and proceeded with a flourish to turn the key in the latch. After which he brought the key to the cabinet and set it beside the tray in plain sight. While this was being done, Sabina saw John, at the rear of the assemblage, ease back to the door and test it with a hand behind his back to determine if it was in fact locked. It was, for he caught her eye and dipped his chin affirmatively.
Still at the sideboard, Vargas announced that before the séance commenced two final preparations were necessary. Would one of the “friends of Angkar” be so kind as to assist him in the first of these? John stepped forward just ahead of Dr. Cobb.
The bogus medium said, “Mr. Milford, will you kindly examine each of the slates you see before you and tell us if they are as they seem — ordinary writing slates?”
John examined them more carefully than any of the devotees would have. “Quite ordinary,” he said.
“Select two, if you please, then write your name on each with this slate pencil. Once that has been done, place them together and tie them securely with your handkerchief.”
When John had complied, Vargas claimed the bound slates and put them in the middle of the stack. “If the spirits are willing,” he said, “a message will be left for you beneath the signatures. Perhaps from your cousin Gregory or another loved one who has passed beyond the veil, perhaps from a friendly spirit who may be in sympathy with your psychic impulses even though I have not had the opportunity to properly attune them. Discarnate forces are never predictable, you understand.”
John nodded solemnly, as though this gibberish made perfect sense to him.
“We may now be seated and form the mystic circle.”
When everyone had selected and was standing behind a chair, Sabina to Vargas’s immediate left and John directly across from him, both by prearrangement, Vargas again called for a volunteer. This time it was Dr. Cobb who stepped forward first. Vargas handed him the coiled rope and seated himself in the high chair, his forearms flat on the chair arms with only his wrists and hands extended beyond the edges. He then instructed Cobb to bind him securely to the chair — arms, legs, and chest — using as many knots as possible. Sabina and John both watched closely as this was done. Once again their gazes met briefly and both dipped their chins to acknowledge that they had spotted the gaffe in this phase of the professor’s game.
Dr. Cobb, with Buckley’s help, moved Vargas’s chair closer to the table, so that his hands and wrists rested on the surface. Smiling, the fake medium asked them all to take their seats. As Sabina sat down she bumped against the table, then reached down to feel one of its legs. As she’d expected, the table was much less heavy than it appeared to be at a glance. She stretched out a leg and with the toe of her shoe explored the carpet. The floor beneath seemed to be solid, but the nap was thick enough so that she couldn’t be certain.
Vargas instructed everyone to spread their hands, the fingers of the right to grasp the left wrist of the person next to them, thus creating a complete circle. His warm, dry hand closed over Sabina’s wrist; she in turn clutched the moist wrist of Margaret Buckley seated on her right.
“Once we commence,” Vargas said then, “attempt to empty your minds of all thought, to keep them as blank as the surfaces of the slates throughout. And remember, good friends, you must not move either hands or feet during the séance — you must not under any circumstances break the mystic circle. To do so could have grave consequences. There have been instances where inattention and disobedience have proven fatal to sensitives while in a deep trance.”
He closed his eyes, let his chin lower slowly to his chest. And the performance began.
14
Sabina
Nearly a minute passed in silence while Vargas pretended to place himself in a mesmeric trance. Then he commenced a whispering chant in English punctuated by what Sabina took to be simulated Egyptian, in which he called for the door to the spirit world to open and the shades of the departed to pass through and reveal their presence. While this was going on, the lights began to dim as if in response to his exhortations. The phenomenon elicited a shivery gasp from Margaret Buckley, but there was nothing otherworldly about it. Gaslight in one room was easily controlled from another — in this case by Annabelle at a prearranged time or on some sort of signal.
The shadows congealed until the room was in utter darkness. Vargas’s chanting ceased abruptly; the silence deepened as it lengthened. Long minutes passed with no sounds except for the somewhat asthmatic breathing of Winthrop Buckley, the rustle of a dress or shuffle of a foot on the carpet. A palpable suspense began to build. Sabina could feel tiny beads of perspiration on her upper lip, not from any tension but from the overheated air. She was not given to fancies, but she had to admit that there was an eerie quality to sitting in total blackness this way, waiting for something to happen. Spiritualist mediums counted on this reaction, of course. The more keyed up their dupes became, the more eager they were to believe in the incredible things they were about to witness; and the more eager they were, the more easily they could be fooled by their own senses.
Someone coughed, a sudden sharp sound that made even Sabina twitch involuntarily. She thought the cough had come from Vargas, but in such stifling darkness you couldn’t be certain of the direction of any sound. Even when he spoke again, the words might have come from anywhere in the room.