Vance, in his manner as professional and undisturbed as a
photographer focussing his camera and arranging his screens, was
explaining to Judge Gaylor the setting of his stage. The judge
was an unwilling audience. Unlike the showman, for him the
occasion held only terrors. He was driven by misgivings, swept
by sudden panics. He scowled at the cabinet, intruding upon the
privacy of the room where for years, without the aid of
accessories, by his brains alone, he had brought Mr. Hallowell
almost to the point of abject submission to his wishes. He
turned upon Vance with bitter self-disgust.

"So, I've got down as low as this, have I?" he demanded.

Vance heard him, undisturbed.

"I must ask you," he said, briskly, "to help me keep the people
just as I seat them. They will be in this half-circle facing the
cabinet and holding hands. Those we know are against us," he
explained, "will have one of my friends, Professor Strombergk,
or Mrs. Marsh, or my wife, on each side of him. If there should
be any attempt to rush the cabinet, we must get there first. I
will be outside the cabinet working the rappings, the floating
music, and the astral bodies." At the sight of the expression
these words brought to the face of Gaylor, Vance permitted
himself the shadow of a smile. "I can take care of myself," he
went on, "but remember -- Vera must not be caught outside the
cabinet! When the lights go up, she must be found with the ropes
still tied."