“Which part?”

“About his being a fakir.  Here’s my theory:  that hocus-pocus on the roof at midnight was for the purpose of impressing Vaughan.  No doubt he believed it a real spiritual manifestation, whereas it was only a clever bit of jugglery.  Now that Vaughan is dead, that particular bit of jugglery will cease until there is some new victim to impress.  In fact, it has ceased already.  There was no star last night.”

“But you know why,” I pointed out.  “The yogi spent the night in contemplation.  We can bear witness to that.”

“We can’t bear witness to when he started in,” said Godfrey, drily.  “We didn’t see him till after half-past twelve.  However, accepting his explanation, there would be no reason for omitting the phenomenon to-night, if it’s a genuine one.”

“No,” I agreed.

“And if it is omitted,” Godfrey went on, “it will be pretty conclusive evidence that it isn’t genuine.  Although,” he went on hurriedly, “I don’t need any proof of that—­anything else would be unbelievable.”  He glanced at his watch.  “It’s ten minutes to twelve,” he said.  “Come along.”

I followed him out of the house and through the grove with very mixed sensations.  If the star didn’t fall, it would tend to prove that it was, as Godfrey had said, merely a fake arranged to impress a credulous old man; but suppose it did fall!  That was a part of the test concerning which Godfrey had said nothing.  Suppose it did fall!  What then?

So it was in silence that I followed Godfrey up the ladder and took my place on the limb.  But Godfrey seemed to have no uneasiness.

“We won’t have long to wait,” he said.  “We’ll wait till five minutes after twelve, just to make sure.  It must be twelve now.  I wish I could persuade that fellow to show me how the fake was worked, for it was certainly a good one—­one of the best....”

He stopped abruptly, staring out into the darkness.  I was staring, too, for there, against the sky, a light began to glow and brighten.  It hung for a moment motionless, and then began slowly to descend, steadily, deliberately, as of set purpose.  Lower and lower it sank, in a straight line, hovered for an instant, and burst into a million sparks.

In the flare of light, a white-robed figure stood, gazing upwards, its arms strained toward the sky.

As we went silently down the ladder, a moment later, it seemed to me that I could hear Godfrey’s theory crashing about his ears.

CHAPTER XIII

FRANCISCO SILVA

It was not quite ten o’clock when Godfrey and I turned in at the gates of Elmhurst, next morning, and made our way up the drive to the house, but in the library we found a considerable company already assembled.  Goldberger was there, with Freylinghuisen his physician, his clerk, his stenographer, and the men who were to constitute the jury; Simmonds was there, and with him was an alert little man in glasses, who, Godfrey told me in an aside, was Sylvester, the head of the Identification Bureau, and the greatest expert on finger-prints in America.  The district attorney had sent up an assistant, also with a stenographer, and altogether the room was decidedly crowded.