Together they mounted the stairs to arrive at a still narrower platform. Here on a stand they discovered a small moving-picture projector.
“I thought maybe it would be that,” was Patrick’s only comment as he focused the machine, then turned on the motor.
To Florence’s vast surprise, the crystal ball, reposing on the table on the floor below, at once became alive. On its gleaming surface tiny human figures began to move.
“Quite simple,” was the young officer’s comment. “Moving pictures focused upon a small screen behind the ball—that’s all it was.”
“And they made the pictures especially for their—their clients!” Florence’s tone spoke her astonishment. “Posed people made up to look like them.”
“Rather costly, I’d say!” said Patrick. “But then, they were playing for big stakes. I have no doubt they’ve played their little game before, perhaps many times.
“Come!” he said a moment later, “We’ll go have a look on this black priestess of yours. We may find her at home.”
They did find the priestess, and many more besides. In fact, there had been quite an affair at her studio that very morning. Truth was, as Florence, leaning on Patrick’s arm, looked in upon the scene, she thought there had been nothing quite like it before.
“It—it’s like a scene on the stage,” she whispered.
“The cold gray dawn of the morning after,” Patrick murmured.