The planchette stopped abruptly. With an air of exhaustion, Irene picked up the paper.

"Behind the mirror above the fireplace," she read aloud.

"I am saved," the middle-aged woman cried out. "How can I thank you, Mrs. Toller? You have my most sincere gratitude."

"You must thank the spirit of your husband, madam," Irene said. "I am merely the medium through which he communicated the information."

"Thank you, George, wherever you are" The woman bustled out of the row of chairs and hurried toward the exit. "Please excuse me. I must find those shares immediately."

She dashed straight past Caroline, leaving a trace of lavender scent in the air, and disappeared around the curtain that blocked the light from the door.

"Now that was interesting," Adam said.

Excitement bubbled in the darkened lecture room. An-other man shot to his feet.

"If you please, Mrs. Toller, I have a question," he called loudly. "If the spirit of Elizabeth Delmont is nearby, ask her to tell us who murdered her."

There was a startled silence.

At the front of the room Irene flinched violently. Her mouth opened and then closed very quickly.

For the first time, Adam gave his full and undivided attention to the stage. He leaned forward, resting his fore-arms on his thighs, and watched Mrs. Toller closely.

"I expect that she will claim that Mrs. Delmont's spirit isn't present," Caroline murmured to Adam.

"I'm not so certain of that," Adam replied. "Look. The planchette is moving."

Caroline stared, astonished. Beneath Mrs. Toller's fingers, the device drifted this way and that, drawing the tip of the pencil across a fresh sheet of paper.

Irene groaned. A visible shudder passed across her shoulders. She gave every appearance of struggling valiantly to keep herself erect in her chair.

When the planchette finally halted, no one moved.

Irene eased the device aside and picked up the paper. She gazed at the scrawled writing for a long time. Tension gripped the room.

Irene read the message in her new, raspy voice. "Elizabeth Delmont was a fraud. She angered the spirits with her false claims and tricks. The invisible hand of retribution reached out from beyond the grave to silence her."

As if the final effort had been too much for her, Irene collapsed facedown on the table. Before anyone could move, the single lamp flared violently and then went out. The lecture hall was enveloped in thick darkness.

Someone shrieked. A hubbub ensued.

"Please remain calm. All is well. This, often happens when Mrs. Toller finishes her demonstration. Séances ex-act a great toll on the medium's nerves. I will have the lamp on in a minute"

Caroline recognized the voice of the small man who had introduced Irene Toller.

The lights came up slowly, illuminating the stage. Irene Toller and her planchette had disappeared.

SEVEN

"Enough of these theatrics." Adam took a firm grip on Caroline's arm and urged her to her feet. "Browning had the right of it in his piece `Mr. Sludge, the Medium. Anyone who claims to be able to summon spirits is a fraud."

"I would remind you, sir, that Mr. Browning's wife was very impressed by a séance conducted by the famous Mr. D. D. Home. Rumor has it that she was convinced that Home not only contacted the spirit world but that he actually caused manifestations to appear."

"With all due respect to the incomparable Elizabeth Barrett Browning, I am certain that she was tricked by Home" Adam steered her toward the door. "But I will admit that she was in excellent company. In his prime, Home managed to make fools of any number of people."

To his great satisfaction, Caroline did not resist his effort to get her out of the lecture hall. But he had miscalculated badly in one regard, he discovered. The gently rounded shape and the enticing, resilient feel of her arm through the fabric of her sleeve proved unexpectedly distracting. He had to struggle against a sudden urge to tighten his hold and pull her closer. This was the first time he had actually touched her. He could not suppress the flicker of excitement that crackled through him.

She was warm and vivid in a tightly laced green gown trimmed with white at the neck and sleeves. The short train of the dress was gracefully hooked up to enable her to walk without sweeping the floor with the hem. The design ex-posed the toes of dainty shoes the same color as the gown. A large, delightfully frivolous green and gold velvet bow decorated the rear of the dress where the skirts had been drawn up and back into a small pouf. Her hair was twisted into an elegant coil. A tiny flower-trimmed hat was perched at a rakish angle over one eye.

She looked good enough to eat, he thought, and he was ravenously hungry.

He guided her along the corridor, intensely, almost painfully conscious of her femininity. The faint, enticing scent of her body mingled with the flowers and herbs of the soap she had used in her bath. The fragrance thrilled his senses. He reminded himself that he was too old, was too experienced and had seen too much of the dark, raw side of life to be so easily overwhelmed by a woman. But there it was. All indications were that he had been struck by lightning.

They made their way down the main hall of Wintersett House, past an office, a large reception room, more lecture halls and a library.

As far as Adam could determine, only the ground floor

had been opened to the members of the Society of Psychical Investigations. The floors above were closed to the public.

The mansion was vast, bleak and quite ugly, in his opinion. It had been designed in the Gothic style with walls of heavy stone. The rooms were vaulted in the medieval manner. Very little sunlight penetrated the interior of the big house.

Just the sort of atmosphere the members of the Society no doubt thrived on, he thought.

When they reached the front hall, he saw two gentlemen engaged in serious conversation. The shorter of the two was a man of some forty or forty-five years of age. Although he was of less than average height, he was fashioned along solid, heavy lines, not unlike the mansion. He projected an intense, scholarly air with spectacles, whiskers, a receding hairline and a rumpled coat.

The short, bespectacled man was brandishing a photo-graph beneath the aristocratic nose of an elegant, well-dressed, rather bored-looking gentleman. The taller man was endowed with the sort of statue-perfect features that never failed to attract the eyes of the ladies. His jet-black hair was highlighted by a startling streak of silver.

"The tall, distinguished gentleman is Mr. Julian Elsworth," Caroline whispered. "He is the most fashion-able practitioner of psychical powers in London at the moment. He gives occasional public demonstrations here at Wintersett House, but most of his sittings are conducted in private homes in the most exclusive circles"

She sounded far too enthusiastic about Elsworth, Adam decided.

"I've heard of him," he allowed. "We've never been introduced."

"A formal reception in his honor will be held here later this week," she said. "It will be followed by a demonstration of his abilities. There is certain to be a very large crowd."

"And the short gentleman?"

"That is Mr. Reed. He is the president of the Society for Psychical Investigations and the publisher of New Dawn."

At that moment Elsworth glanced up from the photo-graph that Reed was holding in front of him. He gave Adam a brief, considering look. Then, evidently dismissing him as unimportant, he turned to Caroline with a dazzlingly bright smile.

"Mrs. Fordyce," Elsworth said. "A pleasure to see you again."

"Mr. Elsworth." She gave him her gloved hand and then politely switched her attention to the shorter man. "Mr. Reed."

She glanced speculatively at Adam. "Allow me to present Mr.—"

"Grove," he said before she could decide what name to use. "Adam Grove."

The two men nodded politely but it was clear that Caroline was the one who interested them.

Reed's pale eyes were intense and serious behind the lenses of his eyeglasses. "Welcome back to Wintersett House. Have you returned to continue your literary re-search or have you finally decided to honor the Society with a demonstration of your own psychical powers?"

Adam tightened his grip on Caroline's arm. Psychical powers? What the deuce was this about?

Unobtrusively, she tried to free herself. He realized he was holding on to her as if she were in danger of being swept away by some invisible force. He quickly loosened his hand, but he did not release her. For some reason, everything in him was screaming at him to keep her as close as possible.

Caroline smiled politely at Reed. "As I told you the other day, sir, the item in the press was incorrect regarding several of the particulars of my demonstration at the tea party."

"But I spoke with Mrs. Hughes myself," Reed insisted. "She was very impressed by what she witnessed that day."

"Please believe me when I tell you that I do not possess any gifts that would be of interest to the researchers of the Society," Caroline said.

Reed's smile held a mix of understanding and approval. "Your natural delicacy of feeling becomes you, Mrs. Fordyce, but there is no need for alarm. I would not dream of putting you on a public stage. Rest assured that the tests would be conducted in private according to the strictest standards of science."

"I must decline," Caroline said firmly.