"Not at all," replied the Professor, with sudden gravity. "On the contrary, my researches have convinced me that there are mysteries to which, if we only had the clue—but we'll talk of that later," he added, with a sudden, change of tone. "My first duty, as your host, is to feed you; come and help me perform the sacred rite of hospitality."
Laughing, he opened the door and bowed Annette to the head of the little procession to the dining-room, where they were presently seated round s candle-lit table of richly-polished mahogany.
It was a strange dinner-party, at which two, at least, of the diners found it difficult to appreciate the sallies of the host. Mr. Sims, however, expanded under the influence of the Professor's geniality. March was in unusually high spirits, for he had just succeeded in translating a heiroglyphic inscription which had defeated the Museum authorities, and he devoted himself to the sport of drawing out his psychic guest with a delicate irony which, to do him justice, never passed the bounds of good taste.
The innocent Mr. Sims responded to this subtle flattery with a readiness which delighted the Professor, and even Annette and the lawyer could not refrain from smiling at the naiveté with which Sims played his part.
At last the dinner drew to a close, and March rose.
"I am not going to let you off, Mr. Sims," he said. "I am eager to learn something of the methods of the modern spiritualists, for I admit I am more familiar with those of the past. But I think we ought to have a more suitable atmosphere for the seance," he added, chuckling. "Miss Grey, I hope you will not leave us? I think my Egyptian room would form an admirable background for Mr. Sims' experiments."
Annette smiled, with something of an effort, and led the way to the Hall of the Dead.
Despite himself, Sims could not repress an exclamation of awe at the sight of the great, gloomy room, with its solemn figures and mysterious shadows.
The Professor rubbed his hands, well pleased at the effect he had produced
"Now, Mr. Sims," he said, "here is a carved chair on which a Pharaoh once sat. Enthrone yourself there. We will sit, metaphorically, at your feet, and listen to what you are pleased to tell us."
Sims bowed, but did not return the Professor's smile. Gravely he seated himself in the heavy wooden chair, rested his elbow on one of the quaintly-carved arms, and let his head sink onto his hand. The others grouped themselves near and waited, in a heavy silence.
Sensitive to impressions, the Professor's gay mood faded gradually into a tense expectancy that made his long fingers work nervously. He startled as Sims' voice broke the silence sharply.
"I am aware, Professor March," said Sims in a hard, level tone that startled his hearers, "that you are a skeptic."
The Professor murmured something, but Sims went on, without heeding him.
"I feel tonight that I am going to prove to you that I can see things that are hidden. . . ."
He paused, and again the silence was broken only by the sound of heavy breathing. As suddenly as before, Sims spoke again:
"Listen!" he said. "I see a great room, half lit by a lamp in the roof. There is a brighter light near a table in the center of the room. It is a stone table, such as was used in ancient Egypt by the embalmers."
