If it was an experiment of some kind, to prove a scientific or psychic theory, then certainly this East Indian must not be allowed to work it out with the aid of this innocent young girl. Still, it was not for him, Nick Carter, to interfere, until he knew. All he could do was to watch, and be ready to give help if it should be needed. He kept still and waited.
For two or three minutes the girl stood there, while a low murmur reached Nick’s ears, telling him that the image—or somebody inside it—was talking to Clarice Bentham.
At last she moved back, and again came the distinct words: “You will obey!”
“I will obey,” she replied.
“It is well. Before you leave this house, a small gold image of myself will be placed in your hands. Each afternoon, at six o’clock, you will look into its eyes. As you do so, you will be subject to my will. It will be my eyes you will see there.”
“Bunk!” muttered Nick Carter.
“If I have any orders for you,” continued the voice, “you will hear my suggestions, for at that very moment I shall be sending mental messages. If I have none for you, you will put the image away—until the next afternoon. You understand?”
“Yes.”
“That is all. You will forget all about this—that you have looked into my eyes and heard my voice. You will not remember how long you have been standing up here, and you will not recall anything when the small image is given to you. Now! Awake!”
Clarice’s right hand passed over her eyes, and she stared at the idol curiously. Then she looked around, and Nick Carter saw that her gaze was normal. She seemed to be quite her usual self. He stepped forward and spoke to her.