The Ghost Makers

The voice ended as the curtains swished down. The rajah had released the cord. A tenseness came over the circle. Minutes ticked slowly by, until the rajah drew the cord to raise the curtains. The bare vacancy of the cabinet was scarcely discernible.

"Let us wait," said Rajah Brahman solemnly. "My psychic vision shows that one will soon be with us—" As his mystic tones dwindled, all eyes watched the cabinet. A luminous spot was appearing upon the platform, which stood a foot above the floor. The spot enlarged. It became a shapeless mass. Taller, taller it grew, until a radiant form of light stood swaying in the cabinet. The outline of a human face was visible. It turned about as though seeking some one in the circle. It stopped, and as it lingered, those who watched saw the countenance of a beautiful young girl.

"My daughter! Stella!" The cry came from Arthur Dykeman, the man from Cincinnati. Dykeman was pressing forward; seeking to grasp the ethereal vision, but the materialized girl waved him back. A voice came from the spirit — a plaintive murmur — and Dykeman paused to listen to its message.

"I must return to the astral plane," were the words. "I cannot linger long to-night. I have found the guide who can bring me here again. Have faith, dear father. Have faith."

"Are you happy, daughter?"

"Yes, father. All is happiness on the higher plane. All is happiness—" The spirit extended her hands.

"You may touch her hands," said Rajah Brahman, in a low tone. "Be careful, that is all. She is completely materialized. Step back when she commences to sway—"

Dykeman was clasping the hands of the gorgeous spirit. The form shimmered weirdly, and the father moved away. Still, the form remained.

"She is waiting for you to speak," said Rajah Brahman. "She wishes a token of your love — a token of remembrance—"

Arthur Dykeman was fumbling in his pockets. He brought out a jewel case. As he opened it, the sparkle of gems showed as they reflected the dazzling luminosity of the spectral vision. The girl spirit was out of the cabinet, now — a few paces forward.

"Your jewels, darling" — Dykeman's voice was faltering — "your own jewels — those that belonged to your mother before—"

One by one, the man placed the glittering rings upon the fingers of the shining, extended hands. As the task was ended, the form began to sway. Dykeman stepped back, and the vision dwindled. It moved toward the cabinet; there it became a swirling patch of light, until finally all was blackness. The curtains swished upward.

A long silence followed. At last, Rajah Brahman spoke, in a low, weary voice.

"I no longer feel the presence of my spirit guide. Like the materialized form, he has returned to the astral plane."

The man on the throne clapped his hands, weakly. Lights came on in the room. Imam Singh was standing by the door. Rajah Brahman was reclining on his throne.

He dropped the tasseled cord as Imam Singh approached. The servant drew the cord to reveal the bare cabinet. He drew the contrivance away to the side of the room.

The sitters knew that the seance was ended. Some obeyed the gestures of Imam Singh, who motioned them toward the reception room. Others, a trifle more bold, approached the rajah's throne. All had been impressed by the amazing seance — particularly the ones who had seen spirits which they recognized.

Dick Terry and his aunt were close by when Benjamin Castelle was speaking to Rajah Brahman.

"A wonderful demonstration," Castelle was saying. "I am a skeptic, you know, but seances such as this will make me a believer. This gentleman" — he indicated Thomas Telford, standing near — "told me that he was anxious to speak to you. He is new in psychic research—"

Rajah Brahman was looking toward Telford. He saw a tall, elderly gentleman, whose face was mild and whose eyes were half shut. He motioned to the man to approach. With one hand on Telford's shoulder, the seer spoke in a low voice.

"I saw a spirit form near you tonight," he said. "I know that there is a message for you — a message that concerns you gravely. Have faith. Perhaps, at my next seance, I can prevail upon that spirit to speak.

"Rome was not built in a day. We must not hope to commune with the spirits too rapidly. But soon — I promise you — soon."

The mystic sat upright on his throne, and folded his arms. Those who understood, knew that he was preparing for his hour of contemplation when he sought the advice of his spirit guide. The little group moved away and went to the reception room. Imam Singh closed the door behind them. In the reception room, Maude Garwood was speaking in rapture to her nephew. The two were alone.

"Wasn't it wonderful, Dick?" she asked. "The message from Geoffrey — ah! Perhaps I may see him as that man saw his daughter — that was wonderful, Dick!"