When the professor had gleaned all the data she was willing to provide, he commenced his “preparations.” These were necessary, he said, not only to properly attune her impulses, but to guard against “malevolent forces” that sought to prevent communication with friendly spirits. The process consisted of a great deal of additional mumbo-jumbo about theocratic unity between the living and the dead and the nature of the astral plane so far as he claimed knowledge of it. Sabina pretended to listen attentively and to agree to everything he told her to do, except for acceding to another attempt to fondle her hand. That she firmly resisted.
Predictably the initial sitting concluded with Vargas urging once again that she come twice more before Saturday’s séance. If he were successful in summoning Angkar, which of course he would be, he would tell her at their next meeting, and continue with her preparations according to the spirit guide’s instructions. Her role as eager and submissive believer demanded consent; she must do nothing that might plant even a tiny worm of suspicion in Vargas’s mind. But the prospect of two more visits to this dark, incense-laden room, and of having to continue to fend off his subtle advances while listening to his glib nonsense, was unpleasant in the extreme.
Vargas used some sort of hidden device to summon Annabelle, for she appeared abruptly through the curtain. Another too lengthy handshake and a silent bow ended the audience. Annabelle conducted her back to the parlor, where Sabina handed the woman a ten-dollar gold piece without being asked. She was then shown to the front door. All very swiftly and smoothly done, the result no doubt of long practice.
Outside, she drew several deep breaths of cold, fresh air. That helped rid her nostrils of the incense residue. But she continued to sniff its lingering smoky odor on her clothing on the streetcar ride downtown.
5
Sabina
First stop: the Geary Street suite belonging to Maguire and Sullivan, Attorneys at Law. Archibald Maguire was in court today, so Sabina met with his junior partner, a reliable man named Conroy, and told him of the Milford subterfuge. He said he would notify Mr. Maguire upon his return, and that he would alert the other members of the staff to refer any inquiries to him or to Mr. Maguire.
Next stop: the Western Union office on Market. One wire in response to hers of the day before had been delivered in her absence, from the Pinkerton office in Chicago. They knew nothing of the Unified College of the Attuned Impulses, a medium named A. Vargas and a woman called Annabelle, or anyone involved in the spirit racket answering their general descriptions. Either Vargas had never practiced his spiritualism dodge in the Windy City, or if he had, had never had a brush with the law. It was also possible that it was a relatively new undertaking. The research mistakes he’d made indicated that it might be, though he did seem to have put a reasonable polish on the rest of his game.
At the agency, Sabina added a detailed report of her meeting with Vargas and her impressions of him and Annabelle to the Buckley case file. There was little question in her mind that the pair was out to bilk as much money as possible from wealthy believers such as Margaret Buckley. But her professional opinion was not sufficient; proof was required before she presented her findings to the client. Saturday night’s séance, with both Winthrop Buckley and his wife in attendance, might well provide that proof.
She was familiar with some of the tricks employed by fraudulent mediums, though not all. It was too bad John was away; he might well have acquired knowledge to augment hers. If he should return from the southern Mother Lode in time, she would ask him to accompany her to the séance. He might grumble and growl a bit, but the chance to expose a bunco scheme would persuade him. His dislike of grifters who preyed on the honest and gullible was as great as hers.
When she finished updating the file, she was surprised to note that it was nearly two o’clock. How quickly time passed. And another day in which work had distracted her enough to miss a noon meal. She would treat herself to an early tea shop dinner, she decided, after close of business.
First things first, however. She locked the office and took herself to the library to see what might be learned about the tricks of phony spiritualists.
The library possessed a number of books, pamphlets, and treatises on spiritualism. All but two of these were staunchly supportive, among them Emma Hardinge Britten’s Nineteenth Century Miracles: Spirits and Their Work in Every Country of the Earth, and the London Spiritualist Alliance’s “Journal Devoted to the Highest Interests of Humanity, Both Here and Hereafter.”
The less informative of the skeptical items was a pamphlet printed by England’s Society for Psychical Research, published in the mid-eighties, in which professional researcher Frank Podmore wrote of having investigated the reality of ghosts by setting up a committee on haunted houses, and of having exposed numerous cases of fraud among mediums. No specifics as to how the frauds were perpetrated were included, however.
The most useful tract was the report of the Seybert Commission. Published in 1887, this detailed the findings of a three-year investigation of several respected spiritualist mediums by members of the faculty at the University of Pennsylvania. In every case examined, fraud or suspected fraud was uncovered in the presentation of allegedly visible, audible, and tangible evidence of the existence of spirits.
Slate writing, for instance — one of the most common ploys, in which two slates are fastened together so that the writing surfaces face each other and a small pencil between them is made to produce “spirit writing” — was said to be performed “in a manner so closely resembling fraud as to be indistinguishable from it.” Other gimmicks such as spirit rappings, movement of objects, and spirit photography were also treated with skepticism. The report’s appendices described how spiritualist mediums operated, but here, too, the information was sketchy. There were few details explaining the methods used by mediums to perform their various marvels.
It was nearly four thirty by the time Sabina finished her researches. She returned to the agency to determine if there was any new business to be dealt with before calling it a day. A second wire had been delivered, this one from the Pinkerton office in Washington, which stated essentially the same as the previous response from the Chicago office: they had no file or knowledge of Professor A. Vargas, Annabelle, or the Unified College of the Attuned Impulses. There was also a message from Madame Louella in her spidery hand, typically brief and typically mercenary: Subject unknown. Word out. Two dollars, dearie.
Sabina was straightening her desk, preparatory to closing up again, when the telephone bell set up its clamor. The identity of the caller was something of a surprise.
“Mrs. Carpenter?” the gruff male voice said, and when she confirmed it, “Boggs here. Recognize the name?”
Of course she did. Mr. Boggs (she had never been told his first name) was head of the Secret Service’s San Francisco field office in the U.S. Mint, and John’s superior in the days when John had been the Service’s best operative. Boggs had been one of the thirty detectives brought together to form the Service in 1865, and was a personal friend of William P. Wood, its first chief, who had handpicked him for his position here. She had met him only once, a large, graying man with a brusque manner and a penchant for cigars, but John had a great deal of respect for him — more than for any man he had ever known except his father.
“An unexpected pleasure, Mr. Boggs,” she said.
“I wish it were. Is your partner available?”
“I’m afraid not, sir. He is out of town.”