FullReads

“A pretty cheap trick,” exclaimed Craig when the attendant had gone. “That’s how he tells the gullible their names before they tell him. I’ve a good notion to tear off two sheets. The second is chemically prepared, with paraffin, I think. By dusting it over with powdered charcoal you can bring out what was written on the first sheet over it. Oh, well, let’s let him get something across, anyway. Here goes, our names and addresses, and underneath I’ll write, ‘What has become of Georgette Gilbert?'”

Perhaps five minutes later the negro took the pad, the top sheet having been torn off and placed in Kennedy’s pocket. He also took a small fee of two dollars. A few minutes later we were ushered into the awful presence of the “Veiled Prophet,” a tall, ferret-eyed man in a robe that looked suspiciously like a brocaded dressing-gown much too large for him.

Sure enough, he addressed us solemnly by name and proceeded directly to tell us why we had come.

“Let us look into the crystal of the past, present, and future and read what it has to reveal,” he added solemnly, darkening the room, which was already only dimly lighted. Then Hata, the crystal-gazer, solemnly seated himself in a chair. Before him, in his hands, reposing on a bag of satin, lay a huge oval piece of glass. He threw forward his head and riveted his eyes on the milky depths of the crystal. In a moment he began to talk, first ramblingly, then coherently.

“I see a man, a dark man,” he began. “He is talking earnestly to a young girl. She is trying to avoid him. Ah – he seizes her by both arms. They struggle. He has his hand at her throat. He is choking her.”

I was thinking of the newspaper descriptions of Lawton, which the fakir had undoubtedly read, but Kennedy was leaning forward over the crystal-gazer, not watching the crystal at all, nor with his eyes on the clairvoyant’s face.

“Her tongue is protruding from her mouth, her eyes are bulging – “

“Yes, yes,” urged Kennedy. “Go on.”

“She falls. He strikes her. He flees. He goes to – “

Kennedy laid his hand ever so lightly on the arm of the clairvoyant, then quickly withdrew it.

“I cannot see where he goes. It is dark, dark. You will have to come back to-morrow when the vision is stronger.”

The thing stung me by its crudity. Kennedy, however, seemed elated by our experience as we gained the street.

“Craig,” I remonstrated, “you don’t mean to say you attach any importance to vapourings like that? Why, there wasn’t a thing the fellow couldn’t have imagined from the newspapers, even the clumsy description of Dudley Lawton.”

“We’ll see,” he replied cheerfully, as we stopped under a light to read the address of the next seer, who happened to be in the same block.

It proved to be the psychic palmist who called himself “the Pandit.” He also was “born with a strange and remarkable power – not meant to gratify the idle curious, but to direct, advise, and help men and women” – at the usual low fee. He said in print that he gave instant relief to those who had trouble in love, and also positively guaranteed to tell your name and the object of your visit. He added:

Love, courtship, marriage. What is more beautiful than the true unblemished love of one person for another? What is sweeter, better, or more to be desired than perfect harmony and happiness? If you want to win the esteem, love, and everlasting affection of another, see the Pandit, the greatest living master of the occult science.

Inasmuch as this seer fell into a passion at the other incompetent soothsayers in the next column (and almost next door) it seemed as if we must surely get something for our money from the Pandit.