The Ghost Makers

"Perhaps," he said, "a declaration of your identity might induce a response from the spirit. Will you write your name upon the slate, with this chalk?"

Maude Garwood complied.

"One moment," said the rajah. "Is there any one here whom you know — one in this circle who could identify the writing of both yourself and the one who has departed?"

"My nephew," declared Maude Garwood.

"Request him to join us," said the mystic.

Dick Terry approached and stood on one side of the table. Imam Singh was opposite him. Dick noted his aunt's signature upon the slate. He saw Rajah Brahman lift the slate and place it in Maude Garwood's hands.

"Beneath the table," said the medium. "That is right. But be sure to turn it so your signature is downward. Spirits, like mortals, write from above. Listen!"

The final word commanded silence. The room was breathless. A soft scratching sound seemed to come from the table. The noise ceased Rajah Brahman nodded to Maude Garwood. The woman brought forth the slate and placed it on the table.

There, in chalk, was written the message:

You were right, Maude, dear. Have faith. My spirit will be with you.

Geoffrey.

"My husband's writing!" exclaimed Maude Garwood. "Look, Dick! Geoffrey's own words." Dick Terry scanned the words. He was familiar with his uncle's hand. He was forced to admit that every stroke, even to the signature, was a facsimile of Geoffrey Garwood's inscription.

Dick's face appeared puzzled. Then, with a sudden thought, he reached quickly forward and turned over the slate!

Rajah Brahman smiled. On the opposite side appeared Maude Garwood's signature, exactly as she had written it. Dick was dumfounded.

Imam Singh politely lifted the slate and passed it around the circle. He brought it to Maude Garwood, who had returned to her own chair. He let her keep the slate, and the woman smiled while her tear-dimmed eyes shone.

The table was carried away by the Hindu servant. Thoughtfully, Rajah Brahman stared into space.

"I see a little child," he stated, "a child living in the spirit realm. A child who has dwelt in the astral plane since infancy. Does anyone recognize the spirit? It is close to one who is here to-night — close to a woman in our midst."

The woman from Chicago was nodding. Rajah Brahman motioned to Dick Terry and to Benjamin Castelle. He extended his arms and asked each man to stand beside him. Simultaneously, the lights went out as Imam Singh pressed the switch.

"Hold my wrists, good friends," said Rajah Brahman. "Hold my wrists. One on either side." The men obeyed. They could feel the mystic's arms touching them. A long sigh came from the medium, then a short moan. A tiny flicker of light floated about in the air above the sitters. The light grew; then gradually disappeared. It emerged again and developed into a flitting, luminous form. It took the vague shape of a baby that floated back and forth, close to the floor, then high above the heads.

Directly from the spirit shape came a low, baby cry. It grew louder; then faded. With its passing, the tiny shape began to disappear, exactly as though it were entering an unseen dimension of space. A prolonged gasp came from Rajah Brahman. He wrenched his arms, and for a moment, Dick thought the man would totter from the throne. Then came his call to Imam Singh.

The lights appeared to show Rajah Brahman, with arms outstretched, leaning upon the two men for support.

Eyes looked toward the ceiling. There was no sign of the vanished spook.

Mrs. Furzeman was at the rajah's throne, pouring forth her gratitude. She had recognized the spirit of her child. For the first time, she had seen a full materialization.

The rajah bowed in acknowledgment of her thanks. He could see that the entire group was awed, and now he prepared for the greatest spectacle of the evening.

A cabinet, mounted on a light but broad platform, was carried forward by Imam Singh. The spectators watched curiously as the Hindu servant arranged it in the center of the circle. The cabinet had upright corner rods and a thin, black top.

There were curtains at the sides; these were controlled by a single tasseled cord, the end of which was carried to Rajah Brahman by his servant.

Imam Singh went to the wall, and changed the lights until only a mild, indirect glow produced a soothing luminosity. Under that illumination, the high ceiling alone showed traces of light. The floor all about the cabinet was vague and obscure.

Not even the white-clad Hindu servant was visible. Only a faint sparkle from the costume of the jeweled rajah reflected the lights from above.

"Within these curtains," said Rajah Brahman softly, "I shall materialize a spirit — one that someone here shall recognize. Be thoughtful in your speech with the spirit. Remember that it will appear from another plane—"