There, in chalk, was written the message:
You were right, Maude, dear. Have faith. My spirit will be with you. Geoffrey.
"My husband's writing!" exclaimed Maude Garwood. "Look, Dick! Geoffrey's own words." Dick Terry scanned the words. He was familiar with his uncle's hand. He was forced to admit that every stroke, even to the signature, was a facsimile of Geoffrey Garwood's inscription.
Dick's face appeared puzzled. Then, with a sudden thought, he reached quickly forward and turned over the slate!
Rajah Brahman smiled. On the opposite side appeared Maude Garwood's signature, exactly as she had written it. Dick was dumfounded.
Imam Singh politely lifted the slate and passed it around the circle. He brought it to Maude Garwood, who had returned to her own chair. He let her keep the slate, and the woman smiled while her tear-dimmed eyes shone.
The table was carried away by the Hindu servant. Thoughtfully, Rajah Brahman stared into space.
"I see a little child," he stated, "a child living in the spirit realm. A child who has dwelt in the astral plane since infancy. Does anyone recognize the spirit? It is close to one who is here to-night — close to a woman in our midst."
The woman from Chicago was nodding. Rajah Brahman motioned to Dick Terry and to Benjamin Castelle. He extended his arms and asked each man to stand beside him. Simultaneously, the lights went out as Imam Singh pressed the switch.
"Hold my wrists, good friends," said Rajah Brahman. "Hold my wrists. One on either side." The men obeyed. They could feel the mystic's arms touching them. A long sigh came from the medium, then a short moan. A tiny flicker of light floated about in the air above the sitters. The light grew; then gradually disappeared. It emerged again and developed into a flitting, luminous form. It took the vague shape of a baby that floated back and forth, close to the floor, then high above the heads.