* * * * The Piddingtons' act on Monday must
go very far to discomfit their critics. If anything more watertight than the technique then adopted can be devised I should be very glad to hear of it. Mrs. Piddington was in a diving-bell in twelve feet of water in a tank at Surbiton. Mr. Piddington, with a good many other people, was in a studio at Broadcasting House. Members of the audience were asked to mention numbers at random ; the numbers were added together and a book—a volume of Buckle and Monypenny's Life of Disraeli, provided by the B.B.C.—was opened at the page indicated by the total number ; somebody chose line 5, and the line was written on the blackboard—" I waited a day after Stanley's ulti- matum, and then told. . . ." A moment's pause and then Mrs. Piddington's voice came slowly worrying the thing out—" Waiting . . . all day . . . for Stanley's . . . ultimatum . . . and then." Not word-perfect, but near enough to be astonishing. If not genuine telepathy, what ?
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