shape and I saw it was a man.

I had a queer fancy, as I stood there, that it was really a picture
into which I was gazing--one of Rembrandt's--for, gradually, one
detail after another emerged from the darkness, vague shadows took on
shape and meaning, but farther back there was always more shadow, and
farther back still more ...

The man was sitting cross-legged on a low divan, his hands crossed in
front of him and hanging limply between his knees. His clothing I
could see but vaguely, for it was merged into the darkness about him,
but his hands stood out white against it. He was staring straight at
the crystal, with unwavering and unwinking gaze, and sat as motionless
as though carved in stone. The glow from the sphere picked out his
profile with a line of light--I could see the high forehead, the
strong, curved nose, the full lips shaded by a faint moustache, and
the long chin, only partially concealed by a close-clipped beard. It
was a wonderful and compelling face, especially as I then saw it, and
I gazed at it for a long moment.

"It's the adept, I suppose," said Godfrey, no longer taking care to
lower his voice.

It sounded unnaturally loud in the absolute stillness of the room,
and I looked at the adept quickly, but he had not moved.

"Can't he hear you?" I asked.

"No--he couldn't hear a clap of thunder. That is, unless he's faking."