His eyes swept our faces, as we stood crowded there in the doorway.  He did not seem surprised.  If there was any expression in his face except courteous inquiry, it was one of carefully suppressed amusement.

“Enter, friends,” he repeated.  “What is it you desire?”

His voice was rich and deep, and he spoke with a peculiar intonation, but without accent.  It was something of a shock to hear the ordinary words of English speech coming from his lips, for they seemed formed to utter prophecies in unknown tongues.

Goldberger took one step into the room, and then stopped abruptly.  Following his eyes, I saw that the cobra had also awakened from its trance, and was regarding us steadily and hissing slightly.  The adept smiled as he saw us shrink back.

“Do not fear,” he said.  “Come, Toto,” and stepping across the room, he lifted the cobra in one hand and held it a moment close to him, gently stroking the distended hood.  The snake curled itself about his arm and seemed to cuddle to him, but it kept its eyes fixed on us.  I could not but smile at the incongruity of its name.  Toto was well enough for a French poodle, but for a cobra!

After a moment, the adept lifted the lid of a round basket which stood on the floor near the divan, dropped the snake gently into it, and fastened down the lid.  Then he clapped his hands softly, and an instant later the curtains at the rear of the room parted and a strange figure appeared between them.

It was the figure of a man, not over five feet tall and very thin.  He was almost as dark as a full-blooded negro, and the white burnoose which was thrown about his shoulders and covered him to just below the hips, made him look even darker.  His legs were bare and seemed to be nothing but skin and bone.  The flat-nosed face, with its full lips and prominent eyes, reminded me of an idol I had seen pictured somewhere.

The newcomer bowed low before the adept, and, at a sign from him, picked up Toto’s basket and disappeared with it through the curtains.  He had not even glanced in our direction.  The adept turned back to us.

“Now, friends,” he said, “will you not enter?”

Goldberger led the way into the room and stopped to look about it.  The walls were hung with black velvet, so arranged that windows and doors could be covered also, and the room was absolutely devoid of furniture, save for a low, circular divan in the centre of which stood the crystal sphere, supported, as I saw now, by a slender pedestal.

“I have a few questions to ask you,” began Goldberger at last, in a voice deferential despite himself.

“Proceed, sir,” said the adept, courteously.

“Do you know that Mr. Vaughan is dead?”

The adept made a little deprecating gesture.

“Not dead,” he protested.  “A man does not die.  His soul rejoins the Over-soul, that is all.  Yes, I know that at midnight the soul of my pupil passed over.”