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“I know the drill.” Freeboard nodded.

“And you, Mr. Dare?”

Dare said, “No. Nor have I bungee-jumped from a bridge in Lahore with a purple sacred cow in my arms.”

Trawley instructed him, and moments later all except Case were resting their fingertips on the planchette as it glided slowly around on the board. “That’s it,” said Trawley. “Get the feel of it a bit.”

“Of course it’s you who’ll be actually moving it,” Case ruminated. “Your unconscious minds, I mean. On the other hand, I think that if there were something to it, it’s because the unconscious must in some unknown way form a bridge to the other side: the spirit gives a message to the unconscious, which in turn prompts our fingers to move the planchette. You think that’s right, Anna?”

“Possibly. Yes.” The psychic nodded.

“Say again why we’re doing this,” Freeboard asked. She was staring intently at the planchette. Something was pulling her into this process. And somehow unnerving her as well.

“To be sure that the house is safe for your clients,” said Case.

He and Trawley shared a look.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Freeboard grunted.

Dare shook his head and murmured, “Shameless!”

Her gaze still fixed on the roaming planchette, Freeboard murmured, “You’re fucking up the spirits here, dickhead.”

“Let your hands be at rest now,” Trawley advised them. The planchette ceased its motion and the psychic closed her eyes. A deep silence ensued. Trawley lowered her head.

“Is there anyone here?” she asked.

Nothing happened; the planchette stayed at rest. Then as Trawley began to repeat the question, the planchette made a lurching slide to the YES in the upper left corner of the board. Dare stared at the word. “I didn’t do that,” he said quietly. He shifted his glance to Freeboard. “Did you move it?”

“No, you did.”

Trawley uttered softly again:

“Who is here?”

The Great Room was still. The air was thick. And waiting.

Trawley’s brow began to crease. Vaguely troubled, she again probed the darkness: “Who is here?” she repeated. Almost before she had finished speaking, the planchette lurched downward with vigor to a letter. Trawley opened her eyes in apprehensive surmise.

“U. The letter U,” noted Case.

Again the planchette began to move swiftly, carrying their fingers from letter to letter.

“Come on, Terry, you’re moving it!” Freeboard accused him.

“I am not!”

Case called out the letters one by one as the planchette moved to Z, and then U, and then R-D-E-R-E-R-H-E-R-E.

And stopped.

“Zurderer here?” Dare wondered.

He was rapt and intent, all cynicism vanished.

“Makes no sense,” Freeboard commented, frowning.

As she spoke, the planchette glided up to the NO.

“’No,’” said Case, looking thoughtful.

Then, “There it goes again,” he said abruptly.

The planchette moved to Z and from there to M.

“Z-M,” Case murmured. “ ‘No Z-M.’ What on earth could that possibly mean?” he pondered.

“Not Z but M,” guessed Dare.

He looked up. “The Z is wrong; it should be M!”

“’Murderer here’!” exclaimed Freeboard.

The planchette fluttered up to the YES.

“My God, it’s Quandt!” Dare breathed.

A shocked hush fell upon them. Trawley lifted her eyes to Case.

“Are you Edward Quandt?” she asked the presence.

Somewhere a door creaked slightly open. Freeboard was watching it as it happened: it was the thick carved door that led down to the crypt. She turned to look at Dare as she noticed that his fingers felt icy cold, and as she did the planchette slid upward again. It stopped on the NO. Then rapidly it flew to other letters and numerals. As it did, Case called them out: “M-O-N-E-O-F-U.”

Her eyes on the board, Trawley paled.

“ ‘Murderer one of you,’ “ she said softly.

For a moment no one spoke. Then Freeboard erupted, “I’m getting freaked! Take your hand off it, Terry!”

“I’m not moving it,” said Dare.

She looked angry. “I said, take off your hand!”

Dare caught a glimpse of Trawley and was taken aback to see tears in her eyes. Then he noticed Case staring at the psychic with