The pad and writing
process was repeated with little variation. Since we were the
latest comers we had to wait some time before we were ushered into
the presence of the Pandit, who was clad in a green silk robe.
The room was large and had very small windows of stained glass. At
one end of the room was an altar on which burned several candles
which gave out an incense. The atmosphere of the room was heavy
with a fragrance that seemed to combine cologne with chloroform.
The Pandit waved a wand, muttering strange sounds as he did so, for
in addition to his palmistry, which he seemed not disposed to
exhibit that night, he dealt in mysteries beyond human ken. A voice,
quite evidently from a phonograph buried in the depths of the altar,
answered in an unknown language which sounded much like "Al-ya wa-aa
haal-ya waa-ha." Across the dim room flashed a pale blue light with
a crackling noise, the visible rays from a Crookes tube, I verily
believe. The Pandit, however, said it was the soul of a saint
passing through. Then he produced two silken robes, one red, which
he placed on Kennedy's shoulders, and one violet, which he threw
over me.
>From the air proceeded strange sounds of weird music and words.
The Pandit seemed to fall asleep, muttering.
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