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she had
eliminated hymn-singing altogether. So they had a silence.
    After
the silence Ewart said, ‘Mr. Patrick Seton will now unite the Two Worlds.’
    Patrick
had been bound at the arms and calves of his legs by canvas strips to his
chair. He let his head fall forward. He breathed deeply in and out several
times. Soon, his body dropped in its bonds. His knees fell apart. His long
hands hung, perpendicular, over the arms of the chair. Not only did the
green-lit colour seem to leave his face but the flesh itself, so that it looked
like a skin-covered skull up to his thin pale hair.
    He
breathed deeply in the still dim room, second after second. Then his eyes
opened and turned upward in their sockets. Foam began to bubble at his mouth
and faintly trickled down his chin. He opened his mouth and a noise like a
clang issued from it. The Circle was familiar with this clang: it betokened the
presence of the spirit-guide called Gabi. Soon the clang was forming words
which became clearer to the listeners in the circle round Patrick and to
Marlene behind the hatch.
    ‘A
message for one of our sisters present whose name resembles a plant. It comes
from a short man in a Harris tweed suit through Guide Gabi who is speaking. The
short man appears to be bearing on his back a long tube-like sack of faggots;
no, they are golf clubs—’
    Freda
Flower cried, ‘That’s my husband!’ but was immediately hushed by the rest of
the Circle.
    ‘His
name is William,’ clanged the voice. ‘He appears to be in a most disturbed
state of mind. He looks very upset, and is trying to get a message through to
our sister whose name is like a plant. He is extremely concerned about her.’
    ‘Why is
he going for a game of golf if he is so upset?’ — This question crashed into
the atmosphere; it came from the large newcomer sitting next to Freda Flower.
    ‘Not
now, Mike,’ she said. ‘Ask the questions later.’ The clanging voice had stopped
talking through Patrick’s lips. Patrick had begun to writhe a little in his
bonds. His feet kicked with sharp clicks of the heels on the parquet wooden
floor.
    Ewart
Thornton dropped his neighbours’ hands and came over to Mike. He bent over him.
He said, ‘By interrupting the medium you may do him great harm. You may even
kill him. If you interrupt again you will have to go outside.’
    Freda
said, ‘I’m sorry, Ewart, but my friend, Dr. Mike Garland, is a clairvoyant.’
    ‘He
must not give clairvoyance at this stage.’
    Dr.
Garland smiled and joined hands once more with those on either side of him.
Ewart returned to his place. Patrick had stopped writhing and was apparently
sunk in a deep sleep. He snored for a while through his open mouth from which
presently emerged once more the inarticulate clang of Guide Gabi’s voice. For a
while it repeated sounds which could not be identified. Eventually it said, ‘The
sister whose name is of a plant is troubled in spirit.’
    Tears
which she could not wipe away, since both her hands were engaged, spurted down
Freda’s cheeks.
    ‘I see
a man,’ the voice said, ‘in a Harris tweed suit—’
    ‘What
colour?’ said Dr. Garland in a persuasive voice.
    ‘A
green or a blue,’ the voice replied, ‘I can’t say exactly.’
    ‘That’s
him!’ said Freda, brokenly.
    The
voice from Patrick’s lips said, ‘His message to the sister with the name like a
plant is this: Do not act against another of the brethren. If you do so it will
be at your peril.’
    Several
of the group gasped or muttered, for it was known that a court case was pending
between Patrick and Mrs. Flower. Many peered forward to scrutinise Patrick’s
appearance, but not even the most shaken or the most easily prone to doubt
could find evidence that he was faking his trance. His physical characteristics
had plainly undergone a change. The skin of his face appeared to cling even
closer to the bone than when he had first gone under and the cheek-bones stood
out alarmingly; his mouth had