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clearly I thought he was about to fly into an uncontrollable rage, but instead he merely stared, curling his lip before turning his back on the woman.
    ‘All this is fiercely disappointing,’ he said to her husband. ‘However, I must thank you, Mr Tyler, for behaving with some modicum of dignity. I see no point in carrying on here. In any event, I have little doubt that an X-ray would reveal little else than cheesecloth.’
    ‘Cheesecloth?’ said the other man incredulously.
    ‘Yes,’ Price snapped. ‘Cheesecloth. Regurgitated cheesecloth, to be exact. Your wife thought, no doubt, that she could dupe us all into believing that the substance emanating from her body was some sort of ectoplasm.’ He heightened his voice grandly. ‘Oh yes, I’ve seen it all before!’
    He wheeled round to face me. ‘You see, Miss Grey, our guest – Mrs Tyler here – makes a very profitable living from conducting seances the length and breadth of this country. The “ectoplasm” which comes from her mouth during her trances is supposed to give form to spirits and allow them to communicate, whereas in fact she is regurgitating – in a rather overly dramatic fashion, I must say, Mrs Tyler – cheesecloth and other substances she has previously swallowed. Egg white and toothpaste are both popular ingredients. Yes, it’s a common enough trick.’ He smiled warmly and looked me in the eye. ‘But on to more important matters! Miss Grey – you came back!’
    ‘I did.’
    ‘Splendid! Quite splendid.’
    ‘Sorry about the other day,’ I said quickly, looking away.
    ‘No you’re not.’ He smiled. Our eyes met again and he raised his voice, lifting us both out of an awkward moment. ‘You look very much as if you need a cup of tea. Shall we go inside?’
    *
    When we had reached the top floor of the building, he led me down the long corridor and into his modern workshop. In the far corner was the electric chair I had seen him demonstrate on the night of the Laboratory’s opening. The thing gave me a chill.
    ‘Ah, you have not forgotten this, I see,’ Price said, catching my gaze. He scuttled over to the chair, tending it carefully,adjusting this wire and that. ‘The old girl needs a few improvements before I can put her to the test on him.’
    ‘Him?’
    ‘Schneider,’ he said shortly. ‘Rudi Schneider.’
    ‘Oh,’ I muttered, not having the faintest idea to whom he was referring.
    A troubled, almost accusatory look, settled on his features. ‘Rudi Schneider,’ he prompted. ‘Come on, woman, surely you’ve heard of him?’
    Woman?
    I hadn’t expected such further abruptness so soon, to be made to feel so uncomfortable, so I said flatly, ‘I’m sorry, Mr Price, but I never claimed to be psychic.’
    He stared at me blankly and blinked.
    ‘In fact,’ I continued with rising confidence, ‘I never claimed
any
expertise in your particular field of research. I merely claimed that I could type. This Mr Schneider might be very important to you, but I am afraid his name means nothing to me!’
    I puffed up my chest and, for a second, held my breath.
    His stern expression gradually softened before finally dissolving into a satisfied smile.
    ‘You have some spirit about you, Miss Grey. I like that. Helps keep me in check. I need that sometimes.’
    It was then that I remembered Mother’s lost bracelet and asked Price if he or his assistant, Mr Radley, had found it. ‘No, no, I don’t think so,’ said Price absently.
    ‘Where is Mr Radley?’ I enquired.
    ‘I got rid of him,’ Price said coolly. ‘Mr Radley’s time was up. Regrettable, really. He was a hard worker, intelligent with it.’ A dark expression had settled on his features, which belied his complimentary description. ‘No matter. You’re here now, aren’tyou?’ Smiling, he grasped my shoulders gently with both hands, looking me up and down as one might marvel at some rare and important possession. ‘Sarah Grey, the ghost hunter’s