The International Spy Part 27

The hair of M. Auguste was black and long, his eyes rolled much in their sockets, and his costume was a compromise between the frock coat and the ca.s.sock.

But it was above all his manner that impressed me disagreeably. He affected to be continually falling into fits of abstraction, as if his communings with the spirits were diverting his attention from the affairs of earth. Even on his entrance he went through the forms of greeting his host and hostess as though scarcely conscious of their presence. I caught a sly look turned on myself, however, and when I was presented to him as "Mr. Sterling" his reception of the name made me think that he had expected something else.

The Czar having explained that I was a friend interested in spiritualism, in whose presence he wished to hear again from Madame Blavatsky, M. Auguste rolled his eyes formidably, and agreed to summon the departed theosophist.

A small round table was cleared of the Czaritza's work-basket--she had been knitting a soldier's comforter--and we took our seats around it. The electric light was switched off, so that we were in perfect darkness, except for the red glow of the coal fire.

A quarter of an hour or so pa.s.sed in a solemn silence, broken only by occasional whispers from "Mr. Nicholas" or the medium.

"It is a long time answering," the Czar whispered at last.

"I fear there is a hostile influence," M. Auguste responded in the jargon of his craft.

Hardly had the words left his lips when a perfect shower of raps seemed to descend on all parts of the table at once.

Let me say here, once for all, that I am not prepared to offer any explanation of what happened on this occasion. I have read of some of the devices by which such illusions are produced, and I have no doubt a practised conjurer could have very easily fathomed the secrets of M. Auguste. But I had not come there with any intention of detecting or exposing him.

The medium pretended to address the author of the raps.

"If there is any hostile influence which prevents your communicating with us, rap twice."

Two tremendous raps nearly drowned the last word. The spirit seemed to be quick-tempered.

"If it is a woman, rap once----"

No response. This was decidedly clever.

"If it is myself, rap."

This time, instead of silence, there was a faint scratching under the surface of the table.

"The negative sign," M. Auguste explained blandly, for our benefit.

Then, addressing himself once more to the invisible member of the party, he inquired:

"If it is Mr. Nicholas, rap."

Silence.

"You must excuse me," the medium said, turning his face in my direction. "If it is Mr. Sterling----"

A shower of raps. I really thought the table would have given way.

This was discouraging. The Czar came to my rescue, however.

"I particularly wish Mr. Sterling to be present," he observed with a touch of displeasure--whether intended for M. Auguste or the spiritual visitant I could not tell.

The hierophant no doubt saw that he must submit. His retreat was executed with great skill.

"If the obstacle is one that can be removed, rap once."

A rap.

"Can you spell it for us?"

In the rather c.u.mbrous alphabet in use among the shades, the visitor spelled out in French:

"_Son nom._"

"Is there something you object to about his name?"

A rap.

"Is it an a.s.sumed name?"

A very loud rap. Decidedly the spirit was indignant.

"Can you tell us his real name? His initials will do?"

"A. V." spelled the unseen visitor.

"Is that right?" M. Auguste inquired with well-a.s.sumed curiosity.

"It is marvelous!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the Emperor. "You will understand, of course, Auguste, that this must be kept a secret among ourselves."

"Ask if it is Madame Blavatsky," said the Czar.

We learned that the apostle of theosophy was indeed present.

"Would you like to hear from any other spirits?" M. Auguste asked the company.

"I should be glad of a word with Bismarck," I suggested.

In five minutes the Iron Chancellor announced himself. His rap was sharp, quick and decided, quite a characteristic rap.

"Ask if he approves of the present policy of the German Emperor?"

A hearty rap. Evidently the spirit had greatly changed its views in the other world.

"Ask if he remembers telling me, the last time I saw him, that Russia was smothering Germany in bed?"

"Do you refuse to answer that question?" M. Auguste put in adroitly.

An expressive rap.

"Will you answer any other questions from this gentleman?"

Then the spirit of Bismarck spoke out. It denounced me as a worker of evil, a source of strife, and particularly as one who was acting injuriously to the Russian Empire. I confess M. Auguste scored.