The
walls were hung with black velvet, so arranged that windows and doors
could be covered also, and the room was absolutely devoid of
furniture, save for a low, circular divan in the centre of which stood
the crystal sphere, supported, as I saw now, by a slender pedestal.
"I have a few questions to ask you," began Goldberger at last, in a
voice deferential despite himself.
"Proceed, sir," said the adept, courteously.
"Do you know that Mr. Vaughan is dead?"
The adept made a little deprecating gesture.
"Not dead," he protested. "A man does not die. His soul rejoins the
Over-soul, that is all. Yes, I know that at midnight the soul of my
pupil passed over."
"How did you learn that?" Goldberger demanded.
"I saw it in the sphere," replied the adept calmly.
"Where were you at the time?"
"I was gazing at the sphere."
"Do you mean," asked Goldberger incredulously, "that you sat for five
hours and more staring at that thing?"
"My vigil began at sundown," said the adept, with a slight smile.
"Last night was the White Night of Siva. It must be spent in
meditation by all who follow him."
Goldberger worried his moustache with nervous fingers, as he stared at
the adept, plainly at a loss how to proceed.
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