“I believe she wants to consult you professionally, sir.”
“Like the book agent who called Wednesday, I suppose. Wanted my opinion of the twelve volumes he was peddling. Well, show her in. We’ll soon see.”
I rose to leave the room, but the doctor raised his hand.
“Keep your seat, Evans,” he said. “I don’t expect this interview to be either important or protracted.”
I resumed my seat, but rose again immediately as a neatly dressed girl entered the room. She was small, golden-haired, and quite pretty. For a moment she glanced at both of us, standing beside our chairs—then evidently decided in favor of the doctor’s grizzled Van Dyke.
“I am Greta Van Loan, doctor,” she said, addressing him as if sure she had spoken to the right man.
“You recognize me, then?” he asked, drawing a chair forward for her.
She sat down lightly, and with exquisite grace.
“To be sure. I have seen your picture in the papers ever so many times, usually in connection with your investigations of spiritistic phenomena.”
The doctor did not appear to feel flattered. In fact, his look was rather one of boredom, as if he expected something unpleasant to grow out of this subtle blandishment. His voice, however, was quite pleasant as he replied.