arly painful
circumstances, in the vain attempt, Amy turned for relief to
spiritualism, which was just then at its zenith of popularity. At first
she practised it privately and unofficially, with a few chosen friends,
for it was something very sacred to her. But gradually, as she came to
discover in herself wonderful powers of divination and spiritual
receptivity, and being very poor at the time, she took it up as a
calling. She is the most wonderful palm-reader and crystal-gazer I have
come across. I have brought people to her of whom she has known nothing
at all, and she has, after close study and brief, earnest prayer, read in
their hands their whole temperament, present circumstances, past history,
and future destiny. I have often tried to persuade Percy to go to her,
for I think it would convince him of that vast world of spiritual
experience which lies about him, and to which he is so blind. If I have
to pass on before Percy, he will be left bereaved indeed, unless I can
convince him of Truth first.

5

I went to see Amy in her little Maid of Honour house in Kensington that
very afternoon.

I found her reading Madame Blavatski (that strange woman) in her little
drawing-room.

Amy has not worn, perhaps, quite so well as I have. She has to make up a
little too thickly. I sometimes wish she would put less black round her
eyes; it gives her a stagey look, which I think in her particular
profession it is most important not to have, as people are in any case so
inclined to doubt the genuineness of those who deal in the occult.
Besides, what an odd practice that painting the face black in patches is!
As unlike real life as a clown's red nose, though I suppose less
unbecoming. I myself only use a little powder, which is so necessary in
hot, or, indeed, cold weather.

However, this is a digression. I kissed Amy, and said, 'My dear, I am
here on business to-day. I am in great perplexity, and I want you to
discover something from the crystal. Are you in the mood this afternoon?'
For I have enough of the temperament myself to know that crystal-gazing,
even more than literary composition, must wait on mood. Fortunately, Amy
said she was in a most favourable condition for vision, and I told her as
briefly as possible that I wished to learn about the circumstances
attendant on the death of Oliver Hobart. I wished her to visualise Oliver
as he stood that evening at the top of those dreadful stairs, and to
watch the manne