Coffee, liqueurs, and cigarettes were now brought in.  Everyone partook, except Lang and the medium.  At the same moment, Professor Halbert was announced.  He was the eminent psychologist, the author and lecturer on crime, insanity, genius, and so forth, considered in their mental aspects.  His presence at such a gathering somewhat mystified the other guests, but all felt as if the object of their meeting had immediately acquired additional solemnity.  He was small, meagre-looking, and mild in manner, but was probably the most stubborn-brained of all that mixed company.  Completely ignoring the medium, he at once sat down beside Kent-Smith, with whom he began to exchange remarks.

At a few minutes past the appointed hour Mrs. Trent entered, unannounced.  She was a woman of about twenty-eight.  She had a white, demure, saintlike face, smooth black hair, and lips so crimson and full that they seemed to be bursting with blood.  Her tall, graceful body was most expensively attired.  Kisses were exchanged between her and Mrs. Jameson.  She bowed to the rest of the assembly, and stole a half glance and a smile at Faull.  The latter gave her a queer look, and Backhouse, who lost nothing, saw the concealed barbarian in the complacent gleam of his eye.  She refused the refreshment that was offered her, and Faull proposed that, as everyone had now arrived, they should adjourn to the lounge hall.

Mrs. Trent held up a slender palm.  “Did you, or did you not, give me carte blanche, Montague?”

“Of course I did,” said Faull, laughing.  “But what’s the matter?”

“Perhaps I have been rather presumptuous.  I don’t know.  I have invited a couple of friends to join us.  No, no one knows them....  The two most extraordinary individuals you ever saw.  And mediums, I am sure.”

“It sounds very mysterious.  Who are these conspirators?”

“At least tell us their names, you provoking girl,” put in Mrs. Jameson.

“One rejoices in the name of Maskull, and the other in that of Nightspore.  That’s nearly all that I know about them, so don’t overwhelm me with, any more questions.”

“But where did you pick them up?  You must have picked them up somewhere.”

“But this is a cross-examination.  Have I sinned again convention?  I swear I will tell you not another word about them.  They will be here directly, and then I will deliver them to your tender mercy.”

“I don’t know them,” said Faull, “and nobody else seems to, but, of course, we will all be very pleased to have them....  Shall we wait, or what?”

“I said nine, and it’s past that now.  It’s quite possible they may not turn up after all....  Anyway, don’t wait.”

“I would prefer to start at once,” said Backhouse.

The lounge, a lofty room, forty feet long by twenty wide, had been divided for the occasion into two equal parts by a heavy brocade curtain drawn across the middle.  The far end was thus concealed.  The nearer half had been converted into an auditorium by a crescent of armchairs.  There was no other furniture.  A large fire was burning halfway along the wall, between the chairbacks and the door.  The room was brilliantly lighted by electric bracket lamps.  A sumptuous carpet covered the floor.