“It doesn’t seem right,” objected Mrs. Faulkner. “What do you suppose she does? Go into trances?”
“Yes, of course,” said Natalie. “And then she talks and tells things and when she comes to again, she doesn’t know what she has said.”
“Then I don’t believe it’s true.”
“Oh, yes, it is, Mrs. Faulkner. I mean, it’s likely to be. Why, if she could tell us who——”
“Do we want her to?” said Barry, very soberly. “Isn’t it better to leave the whole thing a mystery?”
“No,” said Joyce, decidedly. “I want to find out the truth, if there’s any way to do it. I don’t think much of detectives, at least, not Mr. Roberts. Oh, he’s a nice man,—I like him personally. But he doesn’t accomplish anything.”
“Well, let’s have Orienta come here,” suggested Natalie. “And we can see how we like her, and if we don’t want her to, she needn’t try her powers in our cause.”
“The police might object,” said Mrs. Faulkner.
“Oh, no,” rejoined Barry. “This is a private matter. We’re at liberty to do a thing of that sort, if we want to. But I don’t approve of it.”
“I’m going to write to her, anyway,” Joyce declared. “I want to see what she proposes to do.”