"Oh!" The Japanese either understood or pretended to. "I come, then." After a period of hesitation the woman said: "Why, yes, I guess you can--if you keep still. Your friend can come, too. You're a neighbor, and I won't charge you anything." "All right. I call my friend." Footsteps crossed the room and the door to the hall was opened. Presently it closed again, and Orme heard fragments of a conversation in Japanese. From other sounds Orme gathered that the woman was arranging chairs. "Sit here, you two," he heard her say. "You'll have to keep quiet when the rest come. Do just what they do? Be sure, now." The bell now began to ring at frequent intervals, each time announcing the arrival of newcomers. Madame Alia's clients were quickly assembling; Orme could hear them whispering among themselves. A clinking noise he did not at first understand. Then he realized that it was the sound of silver dropping into a hat. Someone was taking up the collection. He knew, too, when they hung the curtain across his corner of the room, shutting off the space in which the medium was to sit, and when they lighted the gas and drew down the shades at the window. Then he heard them lead her into the cabinet and tie her to the chair. The silence that followed these preparations grew oppressive. The clients were waiting for the right "current," and Madame Alia, Orme had no doubt, was using the interval to free herself from her bonds. In a little while someone started the hymn, "Over the River They Beckon to Me," and the others took it up--women's voices, chiefly, struggling through the melody in their trebles, with the mumbled undertones of one or two men. A draught of cooler air struck Orme's cheek; a hand found his shoulder; a voice whispered. Under cover of the singing Madame Alia had opened the panel. Her lips were close to his ear. In the creepy tension of the waiting Orme had almost forgotten that Madame Alia's ghosts were a cheat, and the touch of her hand made him start, but her first words brought him to himself. "Hush!" she whispered. "You'll get your chance in a minute. Put on a pair of black felt slippers. Here"--she groped along the floor, and gave him the slippers. They were large, and went easily over his shoes. "Now the black robe, just behind you." He took it from its peg, and slipped into it. "Cover your head and face with the hood." He did as directed, finding the eyeholes with his fingers.