At first he thought he might have interrupted, and wondered with dismay whether this were so. But there was no sign of anger in those eyes--nothing but a curious and kindly interest.
"Nothing happened?" he exclaimed hastily. "You have written nothing?"
He looked at the ladies.
Lady Laura too was looking at him with the same strange interest as the medium. Mrs. Stapleton, he noticed, was just folding up, in an unobtrusive manner, several sheets of paper that he had not noticed before.
He felt a little stiff, and moved as if to stand up but, to his astonishment, the big man was up in an instant, laying his hands on his shoulders.
"Just sit still quietly for a few minutes," said the kindly voice. "Just sit still."
"Why--why--" began Laurie, bewildered.
"Yes, just sit still quietly," went on the voice; "you feel a little tired."
"Just a little," said Laurie. "But--"
"Yes, yes; just sit still. No; don't speak."
Then a silence fell again.
Laurie began to wonder what this was all about. Certainly he felt tired, yet strangely elated. But he felt no inclination to move; and sat back, passive, looking at his own hands on his knees. But he was disappointed that nothing had happened.
Then the thought of time came into his mind. He supposed that it would be about ten minutes past six. The sitting had begun a little before six. He glanced up at the clock on the mantelpiece; but it was one of those bulgy-faced Empire gilt affairs that display everything except the hour. He still waited a moment, feeling all this to be very unusual and unconventional. Why should he sit here like an invalid, and why should these three sit here and watch him so closely?
He shifted a little in his chair, feeling that an effort was due from him. The question of the time of day struck him as a suitably conventional remark with which to break the embarrassing silence.
"What is the time?" he said. "I am afraid I ought to be--"
"There is plenty of time," said the grave voice across the table.
With a sudden movement Laurie was on his feet, peering at the clock, knowing that something was wrong somewhere. Then he turned to the company bewildered and suspicious.
"Why, it is nearly eight," he cried.
Mr. Vincent smiled reassuringly.
"It is about that," he said. "Please sit down again, Mr. Baxter."