Again Little Cherry Blossom seemed to have difficulty in articulating.  There was a quaver in her voice when she did speak.

“Julia say,” she faltered; “Julia sayee ‘Jethro, you sell R.P.’”

This was unexpected.  It was not at all the message the group of listeners, with one exception, had anticipated.  There was no hint of Nelson Howard here.  They did not know what to make of it.  Nor, it was evident, did Jethro Hallett.

“What?” he demanded.  “What, Julia?  I don’t understand.”

Little Cherry Blossom cleared her—­or the medium’s—­throat and falteringly went on.

“Julia sayee ‘Jethro, you sell R. P. what you got.’  Sellee him what you got, what he want buyee.  You know.  You sellee R. P. the stock.”

But still it was clear that Captain Jeth did not understand.

“Sell R. P.?” he repeated.  “R.  P. Who’s R. P.?  And what . . .  Eh?  Do you mean—­”

He paused.  When he next spoke his tone was quite different.  There was a deeper note in it, almost a note of menace.

“R.  P.?” he said again.  “Does ‘R.  P.’ mean—­is that supposed to stand for Horatio Pulcifer?  Eh?  Does ‘R.  P.’ mean Raish Pulcifer?”

The control did not reply instantly.  The light keeper pressed his question.

“Does it?” he demanded.

“Yes . . . yes,” stammered the Blossom.  “Yes, Julia say sellee Raish what he wantee buy.”

“Wantee buy?  What have I got he wants to buy?”

“Julia she sayee you know.  She say ‘De—­De—­Develop stock.’  That’s it.  Yes, Develop stock.  She sayee you sell Raish Develop stock.  She sayee she wantee you to.  You do right then.”

The foghorn howled once more.  Captain Jethro was standing erect beside his chair.  When, at last, he did speak, his tone was still more tense and threatening.  Even the shallowest mind in that room—­ and, as Miss Phipps had said, practically every “crank” within ten miles was present—­even the shallowest realized that something was impending, something ominous.

“Do you mean to say,” demanded Jethro Hallett, speaking very slowly, “that Julia’s, my wife’s spirit is tellin’ me to sell my four hundred shares of Wellmouth Development stock to Raish Pulcifer?  Do you mean that she says that?”

Little Cherry Blossom croaked twice, but the second croak was a feeble “Yes.”

“She says that?  Julia, my dead wife, tells me to do that?”

“Yes.  Yes—­yes—­yes.  She say you sell Raish four hundred Develop stock and you be so gladee.  She be gladee, too.  She—­”

“Stop!”

The light keeper’s shout rang through the room.  “Stop!” he shouted again.  “You—­you liar!”

The word shot from beneath his teeth and, judging by the effect, might have hit almost every individual in the room.  There was absolute silence for just the briefest instant; then a chorus of faint screams, exclamations, startled and indignant protests.  Above them all Primmie’s call upon her Lord of Isrul sounded plainly.  Captain Jethro paid no heed.