The Land Of Mist

«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.'»