“Suppose I tell Mrs. Owen?” she suggested.
“Very well, tell Mrs. Owen. Ask her if I may go to the room where she last remembers having her jewel box?”
The young woman withdrew with this message and presently returned to say that Mrs. Owen would be glad if Seraphine would come up to her bedroom. A few minutes later Seraphine faced a querulous invalid propped up against lace pillows.
“I am positive I put my jewel box in the trunk,” insisted Mrs. Owen. “It is foolish to say that I did not, it is perfectly useless to look for the jewels in this house. However—what are you doing? Why do you look at me so strangely?”
“The jewels are—in this room—in a chintz sewing bag,” the psychic declared slowly, her eyes far away.
“Absurd!”
“I see the sewing bag—distinctly. There are pink roses on it.”
“I have a sewing bag like that,” admitted the doctor's wife, “it is on a shelf in the closet—there! Will you get it for me, Miss Marshall? We shall soon see about this. Now then!” She searched through the bag, but found nothing. “I told you so. My husband is quite right in his ideas about mediums. I really wish you had not disturbed me,” she said impatiently.
But the medium answered pleasantly: “I have only repeated what my control tells me. I am sorry if I have annoyed you. I advise you to search the house carefully.”
“I have done that already,” said Mrs. Owen.