Mr. Payson, overcome with this profound logic, submitted without further protest to having the shades drawn down. The Professor reseated himself and waited till the three slips were written and folded according to direction. In his own lap were three blank slips folded in exactly the same manner.
Vixley now pressed his brow and smoothed it with both hands. "Some fakirs will palm a blank slip and exchange it for your written one, but you see I ain't got nothin' in my hands," he said, showing them empty. Even as he spoke he dropped his hands into his lap, and secreted one of his folded slips in his palm. Then he reached for one of Payson's written questions and seemed to place it on the old man's forehead, but quick as was the motion, he had made the substitution.
"You hold this paper there while I go and get the slates. And keep your mind on the question as hard as you can."
He returned in a moment, having glanced meanwhile at Mr. Payson's first question, while he was outside, bringing back a dozen or more slates which he put on the book-shelf. He took off the top one and handed it to Mr. Payson.
"Just look at it, examine it all you want to, and then take this wet towel, wash it off clean and dry it with the other end, please."
As the old man did so, the Professor went to the pile and took down the next slate. This was the first one which Flora had read, the writing being now concealed by the thin slab which fitted neatly into the frame. As Mr. Payson handed back the first slate, Professor Vixley, looking him intently in the eye, said:
"Now, can you tell me about how many years ago it was that your control passed out? Was it five years, twenty, or how long?"
The question was accurately timed so as to be put just as Mr. Payson extended his hand. Vixley's eyes held the old man's in a direct gaze. During this psychological moment while his victim was intently trying to answer the question, the Professor, with a facile movement, put the two slates together and handed back the same one that had been washed.
"I should say it would be nearly thirty years—twenty-seven."
"All right," said Vixley. "Now, take this slate and wash it off like you did the other." The old man did so without noticing that it was the same one he had had before.