“I have not called Madame Isis a clairvoyant.”
“Your allusion to her gives me that impression. Isn’t she one?”
“She is a seer of the future, but she reads the stars. Oh, do not tamper with fate! If you go to her she will give you definite and exact direction for finding the real murderer, and it is not the man named Kane Landon. No, it is not!”
The tones were dramatic, but they carried a certain conviction.
“Who are you?” asked Avice. “You do not seem yourself like a fraudulent person, and yet——”
“I am not! I am a plain American woman. I was a schoolteacher, but I have not taught of late years. I—I live at home now.”
There was a simple dignity in her way of speaking, as if she regretted the days of her school work. But she quickly returned to her melodramatic pleading; “Go, I beg of you, go, to Madame Isis. Can you afford not to when she can tell you the truth, or the way to the truth?”
“What do you mean by the way to the truth? Where is she? No, I will not go! How dare you come to me with this rubbish?”
Avice was getting excited now. She was suddenly aware of a mad longing to see this clairvoyant, whoever she might be. It could do no harm, at any rate. But even as these thoughts went through her brain, came others of the absurdity of the thing she was thinking. Go to a clairvoyant to learn how to save Kane! Well, why not?
“Why not?” said Miss Barham, almost like an echo. “It can do no harm and it will show the way to the light.”