The Carnelian Cube

Finch nodded. Said Sonia: "Oh, Master, you shall teach him to find the communion of souls."

The mouth was rather ineffective. This was certainly not the man with the carnelian cube. Finch said: "Yes, but for this visit, I'm specially interested in discovering a man I have reason to believe is living within a few hundred miles of here. I don't know what name he's going by, but—" and he repeated the description of Terry-Tiridat. "You mediums must get to know so many people."

Calioster the Master scratched an eyebrow. "And— uh—you—uh want to know—"

"Where he is, of course. What name he uses."

"Ummm. I'm afraid it's r-rather a matter for a detective, isn't it. Besides I'm a bit short-handed right nnnow—"

"That isn't all," said Finch. "He has something that belongs to me—a little cube of red carnelian, about so big, with an inscription in Etruscan on it. I'd like to be sure where it is."

Sonia's foot tapped slightly, but the medium's face lit up. "Oh, in that case, I think w-w-we can perhaps materialize-—"

"Alexander the Great or St. Paul?"

The medium showed no sign of resentment. "Oh, dear me, no!" he said. "Eminent gug—ghosts like that are very hard to get. I really can't. I could raise you Geoffrey Plantagenet—the one who gug—got his brains trodden out in a tut-tournament—but I wouldn't advise it. It gug-gives me such frightful headaches that I'm obligated to stop work for several days and charge a straight thousand dollars, and he doesn't speak anything but early Middle English and twelfth-century French. I had in mind my old fff-friend Ganowoges."

"Oh, an Indian," said Finch. "Chief, I suppose."

Dr. Calioster looked distressed. "No, though he likes to pretend he is. Really, Mmmmm-Mmmmm—Mr. Ffffinch, I'm afraid we had better not continue if you doubt my sin-sin-sincerity—"

Finch waved. "Not at all, I assure you. I just want some evidence. It's an idiosyncrasy of mine."

Sonia cut in. "Master, you must forgive. He is so veree eccentric, this Arthur. It is for that I lof him. He also has the superstitions."

"I bub-beg pardon, Mr. Finch," said the Master, in a mollified tone. "I imagined you were mmmerely skeptical, not being original."

He took a place at the head of the table and indicated a chair for each of the others, then without any movement to put out the lights, drew a Bible from a drawer.

"I shall take the text from Ecclesiastes," he said, and fluttered the leaves, then read: " 'Then shall the dust return to the earth as it was: and the spirit shall return.' Let us pray for the simple faith of our fathers."

He extended a hand to each of them, lowered his head and mumbled, like a man unaccustomed to saying grace who has been asked to minister at the Thanksgiving dinner of a pious aunt.

Finch watched him closely to catch the inevitable trick—and almost jerked away the other hand that had rested on the table. It touched flesh—cold flesh. His breath caught; he turned his head in time to see in the empty place, a human figure solidifying with the whirling motion of curdled milk stirred in coffee, one second a translucent shadow, the next a solid and almost too palpable man. The grip on his hand had the clammy cold of a fish on ice, but Finch stared with more interest than fear at a lean redskin, naked to the scalp-lock that towered over his cranium like a Greek helmet.

The apparition's mouth moved. It pursed its lips and deposited a brown blob of tobacco-juice on the rug. "Hi, toots! You here again?" the lips said to Sonia. "Look the other way, kid, unless you want to get an education." The ghost swung a bony pentagonal face on Finch. "Who the hell are you, mister?"

"Why should she look the other way?" said Finch, ignoring the second question.

" 'Cause I gotta put my pants on, that's why. I can't do it sitting down. See?"

The chilly grasp relaxed from Finch's, a drawer was opened and the Indian grunted.

"Okay, you can look," said Ganowoges. "To-gus. Chief Stink-water, that's me, and what do you want?"

Finch surveyed a figure in breech-clout and buckskin leggings, standing with feet well spread. "Is that what 'Ganowoges' means?" he asked, to establish relations.

"Sure. Onondaga. If you laugh at it I'll break your —ing neck." Finch felt himself flushing at the use of the Ultimate Unprintable and did not even look at Sonia. "They named a town after me up in York State."

"Please, Gug-Ganowoges, can't you be businesslike today?" asked the medium.

"Hell, no!" said the ghost, bringing his lean fist down on the table with a sound that had nothing of the immaterial. "Listen, Claude; I come around here and answer sappy questions for dopes because I want to get a little life, see? And I stick to you 'cause you're the only medium I ever saw with enough rapport to materialize me good and hard. So we think alike, see? Businesslike, balls! If you want a more businesslike spirit, be more businesslike yourself, and you can materialize one of those Baptist preachers we got on the other side. They're businesslike as all hell ... Gimme a cigarette, somebody."

Finch furnished both the cigarette and a match, remarking: "May I offer my apologies and present my sappy question?"

"Okay, doc. You paid for it. Chief Stink-water listening—"

"I'm trying to locate a man who should be living somewhere near here, named Terry Armstrong or—"

"Say, Claude," interrupted Ganowoges, "know who I saw yesterday. Remember that wop that used to get himself materialized into old Ma Perkins' seances in a bed-sheet, pretending he was Julius Caesar. You know—'Da die is-a-casta!' Well—"

Finch cleared his throat in a marked manner, and as this produced no effect but a glower from the redskin, addressed himself to Dr. Calioster: "Would it be in order to suggest a deduction from your fee for time spent in spiritual reminiscences which are doubtless of interest to you, but very little to us?"

Calioster and Sonia spoke at once. "You s-ss-see—" and, "Ask him how we must achieve communion—" but Ganowoges cut across both of them: " 'Scuse me, doc. Cut my throat if you want to. Go on with your bellyache."

"Well this man I'm looking for should be tall and thin, about six feet one, weighing maybe a hundred and sixty—"

"Say!" The raucous voice cut in again. "How'd you make out with that blonde doll, Claude, the one you had in here treating for soul-pains after her husband ran out with the bearded woman in the circus? You was certainly doing all right when I de-materialized, he, he, he." Ganowoges gave an indescribably lecherous twist to his mouth. "I made her a proposition myself while you were getting rid of the girl outside, but she turned me down on account of having a low body temperature. Maybe she'll come through, now it's hot weather."

"Please, Gug-gug-gug-Ganowoges!" implored the medium, with his hands making a slight wringing motion. He turned from Sonia to Finch and back: "I assure you I ddddon't know—"

"Aw, keep your drawers on, Claude," said the Indian. "You know I'm a spirit and don't count. Sue me if I'm wrong. Say, Toots," he addressed Sonia. "How's about you? Ain't that Colonel of yours running down? Or have you got a new boy-friend?" A pair of fingers reached out toward her cheek. She dodged them expertly, but her expression of displeasure was less pronounced than Finch would have liked. "All right, all right, what's your question, doc?"

"I'm looking for a man and I'm not sure of his name. He has high cheek-bones and a long nose—"

"Week!" shrieked Sonia. "Peeg!" She swung a vigorous slap below the level of the table. Finch beard it connect and Ganowoges straightened up with a burst of laughter. "Haw, haw! Say, doc, I'm sorry, but with a wren like this around I just can't keep my mind on business. How's about a few hands of stud?"

"I really need this information," protested Finch.

Calioster sighed. "I'm afraid we had bub-better play with him. When he has these moods, it's impossible to do anything else, and it only jeopardizes m-my whole business to try. I'm very sorry."