Fifty Years a Medium – Chapter 6, 13/14 by Estelle Roberts

As I went into the room the mother sprang to her feet, anxious to know the result of the sitting. I assured her that the girl’s husband had returned and proved his survival. Tears were in the mother’s eyes as she clasped my hands, saying: “Mrs. Roberts, you have saved her life. Had he not come, I don’t know what she would have done. Several times the poor child has talked resolutely of taking her own life.”

In that moment the full measure of the responsibility of my work dawned upon me. I offered a silent prayer that I should never be found wanting.

A more dramatic case of forestalling tragedy occurred at the Queen’s Hall in London. I had been giving a demonstration of clairvoyance when, in obedience to Red Cloud’s prompting, I pointed to the back of the packed balcony. There, I addressed a man, begging him to see me before he left the hall. When the meeting was over a steward came to say the man was asking to see me.

“Please bring him here,” I said, and turning to Mr. Hannen Swafer, who had been talking to me, I told him I should be glad to have him witness what I proposed to do.
The man came in a minute later, poorly dressed, dejected looking, one who had clearly known better days. He said politely, “You asked to see me, Mrs. Roberts?”

“Yes,” I told him. “You have a bottle of poison in your pocket, and I don’t think it should be there. Will you give it to me?”
At once he began to bluster. “Poison,” he said. “I’ve got no poison.”

“Yes, you have; and for no good purpose.” I held out my hand for it.
He looked at me steadily for several seconds and then shrugged his shoulders.

“Since you know so much about it, you’d better have the razor, too.”
He handed over a small bottle of prussic acid and a rusty razor.