nd there sure enough was London--first the Strand,
crowded with motor-busses; then Ludgate Hill and St. Paul's; then the
Royal Exchange and Bank of England; then London Bridge and the Tower
Bridge and a panorama of the Thames.

"Are you satisfied?" the Gray Mahatma asked, and once again the cavern
was flooded with that peculiarly restful golden light, while the picture
on the granite table disappeared.

"Not a bit," King answered. "It's a trick of some sort."

"Is wireless telegraphy a trick then?" retorted the Mahatma. "If so,
then yes, so this is. Only this is as far in advance of wireless
telegraphy, as telegraphy is in advance of the semaphore. This is a
science beyond your knowledge, that is all. Name another city."

"Timbuctu," I said suddenly; and nothing happened.

"Mombasa," I said then, and Mombasa appeared instantly, with Kilindini
harbor fringed with palm-trees.

I had been to Mombasa, whereas I never had seen Timbuctu. Almost
certainly none present had ever seen the place, or even a picture of it.

The Gray Mahatma said something in a surly undertone and the golden
light turned itself on again, flooding the whole chamber. King nodded to
me.

"You can speak into a phonograph and reproduce your voice. There's no
reason why you can't think and reproduce that too, if you know how," he
said.

"Aye!" the Mahatma interrupted. "If you know how! India has always known
how! India can teach these sciences to all the world when she comes into
her freedom."

Throughout, the man who had admitted us had not spoken one word. He
stood with arms folded, as upright as a soldier on parade. But now he
unfolded his arms and began to exhibit signs of restlessness, as if he
considered that the session had lasted long enough. However, he was
still silent.

"Your honor is extremely clever. I've enjoyed the exhibition," I said to
him in Hindustanee, but he took not the slightest notice of me, and if
he understood he did not betray the fact.

"Let us go," said the Gray Mahatma, and proceeded to lead the way.

The Gray Mahatma took the other turning of the passage, and knocked on
the door at the end. It was opened by a little man, who once had been
extremely fat, for his skin hung about him in loose folds.

His cavern was smaller than the other, but as clean, and similarly
flooded with the restful golden light. But he was only host; the Gray
Mahatma was showman. He said:

"All energy is vibrations; yet that is only o