still flippantly amused, said:

"Don't bother about your knee. Give us some local stuff. Gossip.
If you can."

"Sure I can, and it will make your hair curl." Then suddenly there
was a sort of dramatic pause and then an outburst.

"He's dead."

"Who is dead?" Sperry asked, with his voice drawn a trifle thin.

"A bullet just above the ear. That's a bad place. Thank goodness
there's not much blood. Cold water will take it out of the carpet.
Not hot. Not hot. Do you want to set the stain?"

"Look here," Sperry said, looking around the table. "I don't like
this. It's darned grisly."

"Oh, fudge!" Herbert put in irreverently. "Let her rave, or it, or
whatever it is. Do you mean that a man is dead?"--to the medium.

"Yes. She has the revolver. She needn't cry so. He was cruel to
her. He was a beast. Sullen."

"Can you see the woman?" I asked.

"If it's sent out to be cleaned it will cause trouble. Hang it in
the closet."