The Ghost Makers

The tiny opening closed. Rajah Brahman walked into a darkened hall. He found Imam Singh — otherwise Tony — seated, turbanless, at a table, with a pair of earphones adjusted to his head. A sheaf of penciled notations showed that the assistant had been keeping close tabs on the discussions that were going on in the reception room. For the earphones were connected with a dictagraph that was hidden on the wall of the other room.

Rajah Brahman smiled and stroked his false beard as he watched Imam Singh at work. He reached out, removed the earphones from the man's head, and placed them over his own ears. Seating himself at the table, he listened intently, then pointed to the door. Tony understood the signal. It was his cue to usher the guests into the seance room. The servant put on his turban and left. The babble from the earphones died away. Tony returned and stood waiting. Rajah Brahman was carefully scanning the written notations.

"Good work, Tony," he said. "Wait for your cue — after I finish with Mrs. Furzeman, the fat woman from Chicago."

"O.K.," said Tony.

"You'll have plenty of time to make up," declared Rajah Brahman. "Is the table all loaded?"

"Yes."

"Let's go, then!"

Rajah Brahman was an imposing figure as he strode into the seance room. Faithful Imam Singh preceded him and stood waiting for the appearance of the master. Arms-folded, standing at the left of the throne, Imam Singh brought an awed silence to the seated group.

When Rajah Brahman appeared, a slight buzz of admiration arose, but it was quickly silenced by an impressive glare from the medium's dark eyes.

Seating himself upon the throne, Rajah Brahman assumed the passivity of the golden Buddha. After a few moments, his head turned slowly, and his eyes met those of different persons in the group. They singled out the woman from Chicago, and noted her enraptured gaze.

They rested calmly upon the face of Arthur Dykeman, the bereaved father. Finally, they stared directly at the face of Benjamin Castelle.

A faint smile appeared upon the skeptic's lips as he met the seer's challenging stare. Rajah Brahman was unmoved. He saw the smile fade slowly away.

"I speak," declared the rajah, in a voice that bore a foreign tone, "to those who are willing to see the light. To all others I say that your presence here is purposeless.

"I see among you some of the faithful who have learned my first lessons in Hindu occultism. I may say that all mediumship has originated in the Orient— among the Yogi of the Himalayas and the Mahatmas of Tibet.

"It is from such masters that I have learned my hidden knowledge. This must be understood by all who have not yet been versed in the true development of psychic mediumship.

"I see one" — the rajah's eyes assumed a glassy stare — "who has suffered a grief more recent than all others. One woman among you has come here tonight because she seeks advice of a person on whom she has relied for years."

The seer's head turned and stared directly toward Maude Garwood. The widow pressed her nephew's arm, as she sighed in rapture. The stern face of the rajah softened.

"All cannot cross immediately the barrier that lies between the earthly plane and the astral," he declared.

"Your husband, madame" — a gasp of astonishment came from Maude Garwood — "has not yet reached the higher plane from which I can hope to conjure his spirit. But perhaps I may gain a message of hope." He clapped his hands three times, and Imam Singh bowed before the throne. The rajah spoke a few words in Hindustani.

The servant walked to the side of the room, and returned with a tall, gilded table. He placed it before the throne. Opposite, he set a large chair. He turned toward Mrs. Garwood, and made a salaam. The woman understood. She was to seat herself in the chair.

She arose with a short, happy glance toward her nephew, and sat opposite Rajah Brahman.

"It is in the dark that spirits manifest themselves," stated the seer. "But as conditions are not yet such that I can produce a complete manifestation of your departed husband, I believe that we may accomplish our wish without the aid of darkness."

He clapped his hands thrice, and Imam Singh approached with a large slate. Rajah Brahman asked that it be passed about the circle. Meanwhile, he spoke softly to the woman who sat before him, murmuring a jargon of English and a foreign tongue.

Imam Singh arrived with the slate, and placed it on the table. He added a piece of chalk. Ignoring the chalk, Rajah Brahman showed the slate. He requested Maude Garwood to put the slate under the table, holding it in her own hands, keeping its upper side against the under surface of the table. The woman complied with the request.

"This semblance of darkness," declared the rajah, "may bring us the message that we require. Let us listen."

An impressive silence followed.

"Let me remove the slate," suggested Rajah Brahman.

He did so, and placed the object on the table. The upper side of the slate was still blank The seer viewed it thoughtfully.