The Window at the White Cat

by Mary Roberts Rinehart

In quick succession, without pause, came the words—

"Bank." "Note."

"Door." "Bolt."

"Money." "Letters," without any apparent connection.

Wardrop was going to the bad. When, to the next word, "staircase," again, he said "scar," his demoralization was almost complete. As for me, the scene in Wardrop's mind was already in mine—Schwartz, with the scar across his ugly forehead, and the bolted door to the staircase open!

On again with the test.

"Flour," after perhaps two seconds, from the preceding shock, brought "bread."

"Trees." "Leaves."

"Night." "Dark."

"Gate." He stopped here so long, I thought he was not going to answer at all. Presently, with am effort, he said "wood," but as before, the association idea came out in the next word; for "electric light" he gave "letters."