excellent,” he said encouragingly. “You were correct on both the suit, and the number. Let us continue in that vein — if you guess either the suit or number correctly, we’ll count it as a success.”
I didn’t think he was supposed to be offering me any indication, and had a feeling that these new rules were giving me an increased chance of guessing something correctly. I was mildly irritated at this idea, and at Chambers’s tone of voice: it was almost as if he were encouraging a child. I had known since my childhood that some sort of “sixth sense” resided within me, and now I wanted to know its extent without stacking the deck — and without my efforts being coddled.
I guessed at three more cards, following Chambers’s urgings to concentrate long and hard before each answer, but then I had to stop and take another dose of my patent medicine as pain wracked my stomach. The discomfort made me decide to speed up the game. When Chambers laid his finger upon the next card, I guessed immediately: “The queen of diamonds: the card that shows the Negress wearing a turban.”
That startled me. I hadn’t directly observed a card of that sort when Chambers spread out the deck a few moments ago, yet I could picture the black-faced woman clearly in my mind.
I heard the faint snap of card against table as Chambers laid it down and I shook my head to clear it. “Again,” Chambers said, a slight note of excitement in his voice.
We proceeded in that manner through all fifty-two cards. When we were done, two piles of cards lay upon the table. They were about even in height.
“I didn’t do very well, did I?” I said.
“Quite the contrary,” Chambers said. “You guessed correctly on twenty-eight cards. Better than I would expect.” He scooped the cards up and began shuffling them.
“Better than you would expect, perhaps,” I said, adopting a tone my father might have used. “But not conclusive evidence. Twenty-eight correct answers out of fifty-two cards are only to be expected, when either suit or numerical value will suffice. It’s no more than random chance.”
Chambers inclined his head and gave me a quizzical look. “Let’s test another possibility,” he said. “Your ability to receive thought transferences.”
By now, our guessing game had drawn a crowd of curious passengers. I glanced around at them uneasily, made even more uncomfortable by the ache in my stomach. I was under strict orders from Superintendent Steele to draw no undue attention to my investigations, and had instructions not to discuss with civilians any evidence I found of the paranormal. The last thing Steele wanted the new division to be burdened with was a barrage of curiosity seekers and sensationalists. I hoped there wasn’t a journalist in the crowd.
“Could we retire to a more private place, Mr. Chambers?” I asked.
Chambers shook his head. His eyes held a mischievous twinkle. “I’d like to test you under these conditions,” he said. “I have found that discomfort — whether it’s caused by physical pain or the emotional turmoil of having observers present — can have a pronounced effect on the results.”
The crowd of passengers had grown to about a dozen, supplemented by the return of the steward and two other riverboat men. I felt a bead of nervous sweat trickle down my side under my scarlet jacket, and wished I had made the journey in plain clothes. I was doing what I’d been explicitly ordered not to do: expressing overt interest in the supernatural. Yet I couldn’t help myself.
Chambers lifted a card and glanced at it, then pressed it face-first against his forehead with a theatrical flourish. With his free hand, he reached across the table and grabbed my wrist. So startled was I, that I was unable to protest. The touch of his bare fingers, moist with sweat, made me feel even more ill at ease than I had in the Commissioner’s office.
“What card am I holding?” he asked, his dark eyes blazing
I didn’t think he was supposed to be offering me any indication, and had a feeling that these new rules were giving me an increased chance of guessing something correctly. I was mildly irritated at this idea, and at Chambers’s tone of voice: it was almost as if he were encouraging a child. I had known since my childhood that some sort of “sixth sense” resided within me, and now I wanted to know its extent without stacking the deck — and without my efforts being coddled.
I guessed at three more cards, following Chambers’s urgings to concentrate long and hard before each answer, but then I had to stop and take another dose of my patent medicine as pain wracked my stomach. The discomfort made me decide to speed up the game. When Chambers laid his finger upon the next card, I guessed immediately: “The queen of diamonds: the card that shows the Negress wearing a turban.”
That startled me. I hadn’t directly observed a card of that sort when Chambers spread out the deck a few moments ago, yet I could picture the black-faced woman clearly in my mind.
I heard the faint snap of card against table as Chambers laid it down and I shook my head to clear it. “Again,” Chambers said, a slight note of excitement in his voice.
We proceeded in that manner through all fifty-two cards. When we were done, two piles of cards lay upon the table. They were about even in height.
“I didn’t do very well, did I?” I said.
“Quite the contrary,” Chambers said. “You guessed correctly on twenty-eight cards. Better than I would expect.” He scooped the cards up and began shuffling them.
“Better than you would expect, perhaps,” I said, adopting a tone my father might have used. “But not conclusive evidence. Twenty-eight correct answers out of fifty-two cards are only to be expected, when either suit or numerical value will suffice. It’s no more than random chance.”
Chambers inclined his head and gave me a quizzical look. “Let’s test another possibility,” he said. “Your ability to receive thought transferences.”
By now, our guessing game had drawn a crowd of curious passengers. I glanced around at them uneasily, made even more uncomfortable by the ache in my stomach. I was under strict orders from Superintendent Steele to draw no undue attention to my investigations, and had instructions not to discuss with civilians any evidence I found of the paranormal. The last thing Steele wanted the new division to be burdened with was a barrage of curiosity seekers and sensationalists. I hoped there wasn’t a journalist in the crowd.
“Could we retire to a more private place, Mr. Chambers?” I asked.
Chambers shook his head. His eyes held a mischievous twinkle. “I’d like to test you under these conditions,” he said. “I have found that discomfort — whether it’s caused by physical pain or the emotional turmoil of having observers present — can have a pronounced effect on the results.”
The crowd of passengers had grown to about a dozen, supplemented by the return of the steward and two other riverboat men. I felt a bead of nervous sweat trickle down my side under my scarlet jacket, and wished I had made the journey in plain clothes. I was doing what I’d been explicitly ordered not to do: expressing overt interest in the supernatural. Yet I couldn’t help myself.
Chambers lifted a card and glanced at it, then pressed it face-first against his forehead with a theatrical flourish. With his free hand, he reached across the table and grabbed my wrist. So startled was I, that I was unable to protest. The touch of his bare fingers, moist with sweat, made me feel even more ill at ease than I had in the Commissioner’s office.
“What card am I holding?” he asked, his dark eyes blazing
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