It was not, however, this curious machine that attracted the attention of Mrs. Vanderhook. It was neither the brightness, nor energy, nor speed, nor the whizziness of the things in the room that spellbound her. It was the novel attachment of that satanic cylinder which riveted her gaze and temporarily paralyzed her vocal organs.
The ethereal despoiler of the Vanderhook home had, indeed, gotten a move on himself. He was “in the air,” and no mistake.
At a distance of perhaps ten feet from the revolving cylinder swung the gay Gnani of Gingalee. He was suspended in the air without visible sign of support, and was following the rotary motion of the machine; which meant that he was appearing and disappearing through the floor and ceiling of the room with a rate of motion akin to that Bill Vanderhook was giving the machine. Even the woman, though unfamiliar with theories of electro-dynamics, realized at once that this whirling cylinder possessed electro-magnetic attraction for astral substance.
All at once she realized that the Mystic had been captured by the Mayor; that the wise man was in the toils of the druggist.
Alas, and alas, the mystical lover was in the clutches of the scientific husband.
“You nasty thing!” sobbed Mrs. Vanderhook wildly. And as the awfulness of the situation grew upon her, love lent her courage. She darted past her husband’s outstretched hand and flung herself forward to the rescue of her Mate.
Mr. Vanderhook, however, was a true scientist. He was given to detail. He had provided for just that emergency. A fine wire, strung several feet from the floor immediately over a circular copper track which was laid in the floor and around the cylinder, was to serve a very practical purpose. The impulsive creature who would have plucked her “Lonnie Bird” from his unpleasant predicament, was instead, flung violently backward into her husband’s arms.
“Soul communion temporarily suspended, you will observe,” grinned the master of ceremonies as he seated his wife upon the packing case. “His hunkey highness from Hindustan is now taking a whirl at physical science. He’ll be able now to prove, as I have said, that all matter isn’t illusion. Ah, there, Lonnie Lammie, how’s this from an astral point of view?”
“Extremely unpleasant,” admitted that gentleman, trying to smile. “But I say, Bill, explain this cruel joke. I don’t understand why you should do this. I’m awfully anxious to know how you—that is—one not illuminated could—thus—thus—”
“Get the drop on you?” queried Bill pleasantly. “Glad you asked. Dee-lighted to explain. You’ll appreciate the importance of the discovery. It’s a great addition to scientific knowledge”—and the experimenter warmed to scientific enthusiasm, lessened the current which was driving its prisoner relentlessly through floor and ceiling.