"Marstan is here." She spoke in her own voice now and there was in it a note of infinite weariness. "He has something to say to you."
The man smiled grimly. "I should think he would. Tell him to go ahead; I'm listening."
"He says you must give up the first plan——" She frowned in the effort of transmission. "And the second plan—and try the third. He says there is a woman working in the plan too: she has just begun to work in it. You must get her aid or she might——"
He leaned forward eagerly. "Yes? She might what?"
"I don't quite get it. It's a difficult control. But he seems to be afraid of that woman. He wants very much to warn you against——"
She shivered slightly and opened her eyes. The man had left his seat and was standing close to her side. "I hope you got what you want," she said wearily. "I don't know when I've had a sitting that has cost so much."
He crossed to the settee and picked up his gloves. "It must get on your nerves. Suppose we go out somewhere and have a little bite of supper. I know a place down on Dupont; no style about it, but they give you a great little meal. What do you say?"
She glanced at the nickel clock upon the mantel. "It's almost seven," she demurred, "and I expect another client at seven-thirty."
"No more sittings to-night," he decreed. There was an almost insolent authority in his tone. "Time to call a halt. It's dinner-time in heaven, and spirits must live. You're coming out with me. Get on your street togs, little witch."
Without further protest she obeyed while her escort waited in the shabby entrance-hall. At the curb he helped her into the roadster, and five minutes later they were seated at a small bare table in one of the popular bohemian restaurants of the downtown district.