Read Online i a72d981dc0406879 by Unknown - Free Book Online Page B

said in return,
but she lied. I wore my usual blue skirt and white blouse, beneath
a long knitted coat-sweater in a rather repulsive shade of garnet-
another remnant of my refugee status after the earthquake. The
sweater was warm, and the morning was cold, that was what
mattered.
    "Jeremy is in a contrite phase," Frances continued, "he brought
home flowers last night. For a few days now I will be able to do no
wrong. I must enjoy it while it lasts. Oh, Fremont, I'm so excited
about this invitation 1 ."
    "Perhaps it would be wise not to get one's hopes up," I
suggested, though I was somewhat excited myself. This Spiritualist
stuff intrigued me mightily. "After all, you don't know the purpose
of the meeting yet. You don't want to be disappointed."
    "But even to be invited is an honor. To her home, Fremont 1 . By her invitation 1 Abigail Locke
may not be the most sensational medium in San Francisco, but she is
the most respected by-well, by people like you and me."
    "And who is the most sensational?" I asked, curious. Having
successfully negotiated a long downhill section of street, I
glanced at Frances as I stopped at the corner for a
tattered-looking fellow to cross. Frances had that same
bright-eyed, feverish look I recalled only too well from the
seance.
    "Ingrid Swann, but she's a fake. Or so I believe. She attracts
the largest crowds because she's very beautiful. Even the men adore
her. She works with a cabinet in a dark room and excels at
extruding ectoplasm."
    Ugh! I thought. Out loud I wondered, "What good does it do her
to be beautiful if she's going to do her act in a dark room? And
how does that attract the men? It sounds remarkably unattractive to
me."
    "I don't know, I'm sure, but it does. I even saw Patrick there
once. I suppose he was spying for Abigail-to find out how Ingrid
does it, you know. Extrudes the ectoplasm, I mean. It really is
most odd. The ectoplasm comes out of her mouth-''
    I interrupted: "Excuse me, but here's Octavia Street. You will
have to watch the house numbers, if you don't mind." Ectoplasm from
the mouth, indeed! There had to be easier ways this Ingrid Swann
could have earned her living.
    Abigail Locke's house on Octavia Street was an unimposing
buff-colored carpenter-gothic-style structure, whose finest
attribute was a bay window at one corner. Invitation in hand,
Frances stood on the stoop and rang the bell while I waited one
step below. I had offered to remain in the Maxwell, but Frances
wouldn't have it.
    "Why isn't she answering?" Frances fretted, pushing the doorbell
again.
    "Perhaps she's in the back." I turned my head and looked over at
the bay window, through which I could see a round table with a lamp
on it. In spite of the overall gloom, the lamp was not lit, which
surprised me.
    "Oh, bother," said Frances, when still no one came. She stood on
tiptoes, shielded her eyes with her hand, and leaned against the
door, peering through a little oval of fancy pressed glass that had
been set into the wood. Then she lost her balance as the door began
to move, swinging inward of its own accord.

    WAIT, FRANCES! Don't-" But my protest came too late. She had
already stumbled through the door and her voice, calling out, cut
off my own words.
    "Mrs. Locke?" she called. 'Abigail, are you there?"
    Silence.
    We looked to the right, into the parlor: no one there. To the
left, into a small sitting room: no one there either.
    Frances took a few steps forward. "Mrs. Locke? It is I, Frances
McFadden, come to keep our appointment."
    I snatched at her elbow, intending to restrain her, but just as
I did so she moved another few steps and I missed. So I let her go
and stood stock-still to assess the situation. This house was
entirely too dark. It would have been dark in any case, since the
woodwork was all walnut or mahogany, or stained in imitation of
those fine woods; but it was midmorning on a gray day-there should
have been a light burning somewhere. On the stairs, or here in the
hall, or shining forth