Vixley took the cigar from his teeth and sat down patiently before his dupe. He rapped with his forefinger upon the table. "See here, it’s this way, Mr. Payson; every science has its own condition that has got to be fulfilled before any experiment can be a success, hasn’t it? You can’t go against nature. If you want an electric light or telephone, you have to run wires, don’t you? Why? I don’t know—I’m not an electrician. If you want to develop a photograph, you have to do it in the dark. Why? I don’t know—go ask a photographer. If you want to make a seed grow, you put it down into the dirt and water it. Why? I don’t know. Nobody knows. It’s one o’ the mysteries o’ life. In the same way, if you want to get results in spiritualism, you have to submit to the conditions that are imposed by my guide. Why? I don’t know. And what’s more, I don’t care. If I can get the results, it makes no difference to me how they come. All I do know is that fifty years’ experience has shown us mediums the proper conditions necessary for the physical manifestation of phenomena. Full daylight is all right for psychic influences, but it don’t do for slate-writin’. The question is whether you want to accept the conditions I give you, or do you expect the spirits to work in a way that’s impossible?" Mr. Payson, overcome with this profound logic, submitted without further protest to having the shades drawn down. The Professor reseated himself and waited till the three slips were written and folded according to direction. In his own lap were three blank slips folded in exactly the same manner. Vixley now pressed his brow and smoothed it with both hands. "Some fakirs will palm a blank slip and exchange it for your written one, but you see I ain’t got nothin’ in my hands," he said, showing them empty. Even as he spoke he dropped his hands into his lap, and secreted one of his folded slips in his palm. Then he reached for one of Payson’s written questions and seemed to place it on the old man’s forehead, but quick as was the motion, he had made the substitution. "You hold this paper there while I go and get the slates. And keep your mind on the question as hard as you can." He returned in a moment, having glanced meanwhile at Mr. Payson’s first question, while he was outside, bringing back a dozen or more slates which he put on the book-shelf. He took off the top one and handed it to Mr. Payson. "Just look at it, examine it all you want to, and then take this wet towel, wash it off clean and dry it with the other end, please." As the old man did so, the Professor went to the pile and took down the next slate. This was the first one which Flora had read, the writing being now concealed by the thin slab which fitted neatly into the frame. As Mr. Payson handed back the first slate, Professor Vixley, looking him intently in the eye, said: