and Jackson determined to ask a question out of fun. Harris took out a note-book, wrote a question on a leaf, tore it out, and then handed the book to Jackson. He took it, but did not write anything. Harris walked up to the table and placed his folded paper on it; at the same time looking half-laughingly, half enquiringly, into the face of the medium, immediately afterwards though turning his gaze on to his wife.
The medium’s sharp black eyes looked for a moment disconcerted, as they met Harris’ frank look, but they noted its after direction, and a curious puzzled expression came into them. The spirits at first did not seem inclined to answer the question, but presently the mystic arm moved, and with a doubtful look, which soon changed into a triumphant one, the seer handed the answer to Harris.
It was a small piece of paper, and there were only two words on it, but they were quite enough to make Harris look at the medium with a scared face that was quite ludicrous; he drew back without speaking.
Jackson, who had been intently watching his friend’s success, wrote a question rapidly on a sheet of the note-book, tore it out, folded it, strode forward, and laid it on the table.
The medium looked at Jackson, his lips moved, but no sound came. His face grew very pale, and his gaze turned with a fixed look on the folded paper; it deepened into such an expression of intense and absolute horror as to startle the surrounding company. It was evident to the most sceptical that there was no acting now. His hand moved over the paper and formed a few hasty words, he folded it, trembling as he did so, handed it to Jackson, and fell with a deep groan on to the floor.
Jackson, nearly as startled and scared-looking as the prostrate medium, put the paper into his pocket, and stooped over the fallen man. The rest crowded round, the people of the house were called, and they conveyed the pallid conjurer, now slowly recovering from his swoon, out of the room. The séance was broken up, and the company began to disperse. Some expressed great curiosity to see the answer which had produced such a commotion. Jackson, however, did not satisfy them, they looked for his question, but that and the former one had disappeared. “Taken by the spirits,” one devout believer suggested. In reality quietly pocketed by Harris during the confusion occasioned by the medium’s collapse.
Harris, his wife, and Jackson, left their friends a short distance from the spirit’s residence and went home. Scarcely a word passed between them on the way. Jackson appeared to be lost in deep thought. The only remark he made was—
“Did you ever see that fellow before, Harris?”
“Never that I know of,” was the answer.
Jackson was silent the rest of the way.
When Jackson and Harris were alone in the room, Mrs. Harris having gone upstairs to remove her bonnet, etc., Harris drew forth the two questions, his own and Jackson’s. He handed his to Jackson. It was—
“If the spirit of my first wife is really present let her sign her name.”
“Here is the answer,” he said.
“Mary Delaney.”
Jackson looked very scared and excited as he almost whispered, “Look at my question, then we will look at the answer.”
Harris read—
“Who was the murderer of James Starr?”
Jackson opened the paper, the writing on which no one but the unhappy seer had as yet seen.
On it was written in a good, bold hand, differing entirely from the writing on Harris’ paper—
“Rudolph George Rawlings, known to you under the name of Haughton”
“It was him! I knew it!” exclaimed Jackson, in a voice which brought Mrs. Harris into the room in a fright.
“Who? Who?” cried Harris, nearly as excited as his friend.
“Haughton himself; I thought I knew him. No wonder he should faint; he wrote and handed to me his own death warrant.”
Harris still held the paper in his hand.
“Look Jackson,” he said, “it is Starr’s handwriting,”
He went to a bookcase and took down a book, on the fly-leaf was written, “T. C. Harris, from James Starr.” The handwriting was identical!
“Let us go at once and get a warrant, and have him arrested,” said Jackson, whose excitement could scarcely be controlled.
“We have no evidence to do so,” replied Harris; “we are no nearer towards doing justice on Starr’s murderer than we were before. This may carry conviction to you and me, but what magistrate would issue a warrant on such a lame story. We can inform the police that suspicious circumstances connect this medium—who you may be sure is well known to them—with the Haughton who was mixed up with Starr’s murder. They may find out some further evidence, but we are powerless. “
A knock at the door. Mrs. Harris, who was listening with a white face, went and opened it. The servant said that a woman wanted most particularly to see Mr. Jackson. Harris looked at him, then told the servant to show her up. She came in, a faded-looking woman, who handed a slip of paper to Jackson.
He read on it— “Come and see me before I die. R. Rawlings.” He passed it over to Harris; his wife read it over his shoulder.
“I will come with you,” said Jackson to the woman.
“And so will I,” said Harris.
She led them back to the house of the séance, to a room with a miserable bed in it, wherein lay the man they had seen acting the part of medium. He gazed wistfully at Jackson and spoke very feebly, and in abrupt sentences.
“I am dying, but I will tell you how it was done.”
The woman left the room, and closed the door.
“That night, which you remember as well as I, I went out on the verandah to sleep. I did not go to sleep until long after you all went to bed. I heard every word you said. I heard Harris tell the story of his marriage, which enabled me to make the lucky answer I did today. I knew you both directly you came in. I heard Starr expose me about the cards in a contemptuous sort of way that made me hate him. This led me on to recall your talk about the gold. I determined to rob him, but I was a coward, and assassinated him. I had not the courage even of a common bushranger to stick him up. I knew the exact day he would be back, as you know. I feigned sickness the next morning, and only went as far as the shepherd’s hut. The next day I went on a short distance past Harris’ place and camped. That night after dark I started back to Yorick’s Lagoon.
“I meant to conceal myself behind the bushes growing on the bank, and shoot him as he rode along the road, which, as you know, is close to the lagoon. I reached the neighborhood of the lagoon about daylight. My keeping off the road as much as possible led to my coming in along the cattle track, on the side of the lagoon opposite to the road. I had a short rifle in my pack, the barrel taken off the stock, which was the reason you did not notice it. I tied my horse up some distance off, and went down the dusty cattle track to the water’s edge on foot. There I waited the whole of the morning—how long it seemed! It was about three o’clock when I saw Starr coming. I was about aiming at him, when he pulled up, got off and stooped down to drink. He was right opposite to me, his horse drinking alongside of him, his head
