and segregated from the larger front room by heavy, double portières. Here the furnishings were even more elegant and exquisitely tasteful than in the other. On a gold-inlaid rosewood table were scattered sheets of white paper and a queer, triangular instrument or toy, apparently of gold, standing on little wheels.
The taller woman threw back her black veil and loosened her cloak. She was fifty, with a wrinkled and sad face. The other, young and plump, took a chair a little distance away and to the rear as a servant or an attendant might have done.
“You sent for me, Professor Cherubusco,” said the elder woman, wearily. “I hope you have something more definite than usual to say. I’ve about lost the little faith I had in your art. I would not have responded to your call this evening if my sister had not insisted upon it.”
“Madam,” said the professor, with his princeliest smile, “the true Art cannot fail. To find the true psychic and potential branch sometimes requires time. We have not succeeded, I admit, with the cards, the crystal, the stars, the magic formule of Zarazin, nor the Oracle of Po. But we have at last discovered the true psychic route. The Chaldean Chiroscope has been successful in our search.”
The professor’s voice had a ring that seemed to proclaim his belief in his own words. The elderly lady looked at him with a little more interest.
