I had almost convinced myself by my argument, and this remark exasperated me.
"I suppose," I said, "you want me to believe that once lured into the shop, Walters was impelled by
occult arts to return until this Madame Mandilip's devilish purpose was accomplished. That the
compassionate shop-girl tried to save her from what the old melodramas called a fate worse than
death-although not precisely the fate they meant. That the doll she was to be given for her niece was the
bait on the hook of a sorceress. That it was necessary she be wounded so the witch's salve could be
applied. That it was the salve which carried the unknown death. That the first trap failing, the accident of
the tea-kettle was contrived and was successful. And that now Walters' soul is fluttering inside the witch's
mirror, just as she had dreamed. And all this, my dear Braile, is the most outrageous superstition!"
"Ah!" he said obliquely. "So those possibilities did occur to you after all? Your mind is not so fossilized as