Don't worry, dear, cried the medium's wife, putting her thin hand caressingly upon the tangled mane of her man. It all comes level in time and everybody pays the price for what they have done.
Linden laughed loudly. It's my Welsh half that comes out when I flare up. Let the conjurors take their dirty money and let the rich folk keep their purses shut. I wonder what they think money is for. Paying death duties is about the only fun some of them seem to get out of it. If I had their money . . .
There was a knock at the door.
Please, sir, your brother Silas is below. The two looked at each other with some dismay.
More trouble, said Mrs. Linden sadly.
Linden shrugged his shoulders. All right, Susan! he cried. Tell him I'll be down. Now, dear, you keep him going and I'll be with you in a quarter of an hour.
In less time than he named he was down in the front room his consulting room where his wife was evidently having some difficulty in making agreeable conversation with their visitor. He was a big, heavy man, not unlike his elder brother, but with all the genial chubbiness of the medium coarsened into pure brutality. He had the same pile of curly hair, but he was clean-shaven with a heavy, obstinate jowl. He sat by the window with his huge freckled hands upon his knees. A very important part of Mr. Silas Linden lay in those hands, for he had been a professional boxer, and at one time was fancied for the welter-weight honours of England. Now, as his stained tweed suit and frayed boots made clear, he had fallen on evil days, which he endeavoured to mitigate by cadging on his brother.
Mornin', Tom, he said in a husky voice. Then as the wife left the room: Got a drop of Scotch about? I've a head on me this morning. I met some of the old set last night down at 'The Admiral Vernon'. Quite a reunion it was chaps I hadn't seen since my best ring days.
Sorry, Silas, said the medium, seating himself behind his desk. I keep nothing in the house.
Spirits enough, but not the right sort, said Silas.
Well, the price of a drink will do as well. If you've got a Bradbury about you I could do with it, for there's nothing coming my way.
Torn Linden took a pound note from his desk.
Here you are, Silas. So long as I have any you have your share. But you had two pounds last week. Is it gone?
Gone! I should say so! He put the note in his pocket. Now, look here, Tom, I want to speak to you very serious as between man and man.
Yes, Silas, what is it?
You see that! He pointed to a lump on the back of his hand. That's a bone! See? It will never be right. It was when I hit Curly Jenkins third round and outed him at the N.S.C. I outed myself for life that night. I can put up a show fight and exhibition bout, but I'm done for the real thing. My right has gone west.
It's a hard case, Silas.
Damned hard! But that's neither here nor there. What matters is that I've got to pick up a living and I want to know how to do it. An old scrapper don't find many openings. Chucker-out at a pub with free drinks. Nothing doing there. What I want to know' Tom, is what's the matter with my becoming a medium?
A medium?
Why the devil should you stare at me! If it's good enough for you it's good enough for me.
But you are not a medium.
Oh, come! Keep that for the newspapers. It's all in the family, and between you an' me, how d'ye do it?
I don't do it. I do nothing.
And get four or five quid a week for it. That's a good yarn. Now you can't fool me. Tom, I'm not one o' those duds that pay you a thick 'un for an hour in the dark. We're on the square, you an' me. How d'ye do it?
Do what?
Well, them raps, for example. I've seen you sit there at your desk, as it might be, and raps come answerin' questions over yonder on the bookshelf. It's damned clever fair puzzles 'em every time. How d'ye get them?
I tell you I don't. It's outside myself.
Rats! You can tell me, Tom. I'm Griffiths, the safe man. It would set me up for life if I could do it.
For the second time in one morning the medium's Welsh strain took control.
You're an impudent, blasphemous rascal, Silas Linden. It's men like you who come into our movement and give it a bad name. You should know me better than to think that I am a cheat. Get out of my house, you ungrateful rascal!
Not too much of your lip, growled the ruffian.
Out you go, or I'll put you out, brother or no brother. Silas doubled his great fists and looked ugly for a moment. Then the anticipation of favours to come softened his mood.
Well, well, no harm meant, he growled, as he made for the door. I expect I can make a shot at it without your help. His grievance suddenly overcame his prudence as he stood in the doorway. You damned, canting, hypocritical box-of-tricks. I'll be even with you yet.
The heavy door slammed behind him.
Mrs. Linden had rushed in to her husband.
The hulking blackguard! she cried. I 'eard 'im. What did 'e want?
Wanted me to put him wise to mediumship. Thinks it's a trick of some sort that I could teach him.
The foolish lump! Well, it's a good thing, for he won't dare show his face here again.
Oh, won't he?
If he does I'll slap it for him. To think of his upsettin' you like this. Why, you're shakin' all over!
I suppose I wouldn't be a medium if I wasn't high strung. Someone said we were poets, only more so. But it's bad just when work is beginning.
I'll give you healing.
She put her little work-worn hands over his high forehead and held them there in silence.
That's better! said he. Well done, Mary. I'll have a cigarette in the kitchen. That will finish it.
No, there's someone here. She had looked out of the window. Are you fit to see her? It's a woman.
Yes, yes. I am all right now. Show her in.
An instant later a woman entered, a pale, tragic figure in black, whose appearance told its own tale. Linden motioned her to a chair away from the light. Then he looked through his papers.
You are Mrs. Blount, are you not? You had an appointment?
Yes I wanted to ask
Please ask me nothing. It confuses me.
He was looking at her with the medium's gaze in his light grey eyes that gaze which looks round and through a thing rather than at it.
You have been wise to come, very wise. There is someone beside you who has an urgent message which could not be delayed. I get a name . . . Francis . . . yes, Francis. The woman clasped her hands.
Yes, yes, it is the name.
A dark man, very sad, very earnest oh, so earnest. He will speak. He must speak! It is urgent. He says, 'Tink-a-bell'. Who is Tink-a-bell?
Yes, yes, he called me so. Oh, Frank, Frank, speak to me! Speak!
He is speaking. His hand is on your head. 'Tink-a-bell', he says, 'If you do what you purpose doing it will make a gap that it will take many years to cross'. Does that mean anything?
She sprang from her chair. It means everything. Oh, Mr. Linden, this was my last chance. If this had failed if I found that I had really lost him I meant to go and seek him. I would have taken poison this night.
Thank God that I have saved you. It is a terrible thing, madame, to take one's life. It breaks the law of Nature, and Nature's laws cannot be broken without punishment. I rejoice that he has been able to save you. He has more to say to you. His message is, 'If you will live and do your duty I will for ever be by your side, far closer to you than ever I was in life. My presence will surround you and guard both you and our three babes.'
It was marvellous the change! The pale, worn woman who had entered the room was now standing with flushed cheeks and smiling lips. It is true that tears were pouring down her face' but they were tears of joy. She clapped her hands. She made little convulsive movements as if she would dance.