"Look at this, then." Rajah Brahman dug among the cushions of his lesser throne, and produced his mirror. "Look right into it, Slade. Then look at the picture."
The meaning dawned on Martin Slade. The man in the photograph bore a marked resemblance to himself, although the face was nearly ten years younger.
"I'm to play the spook?" he asked. "Is that the idea?"
"I said there would be no materialization," replied the seer, in an impatient tone.
"Then what's the gag?" asked Slade, still puzzled.
"The gag," said Rajah Brahman, "is that Martin Slade, after he accomplishes the bit of work he has to do with Dick Terry, will conveniently cease to exist as an identity. In his place, James Telford will suddenly reappear, to be restored to his father!"
Slade slapped his thigh.
"Great!" he exclaimed. "I get it now. You figure the real James Telford went down with the ship Castris, as the newspaper clippings indicate. But — so far as the world will know — he was saved, and will be restored to his father—"
"To his dad," corrected Rajah Brahman. "Don't forget that point. Remember, too, that your dad will call you Jim. Spend a while practicing that handwriting. That reminds me: when Tony comes up, I'll have him take some photographs of these letters, too."
"How will you figure in it?"