Athalie gazed curiously at the secret cupboard. After a few moments she bent over, lifted and replaced
the panelling and passed her slim hand over the wainscot, thoughtfully.
"So the woman was a trance-medium," she said, half to herself.
"Yes, Miss Greensleeve. She read the stars, too, and she done cards on the side; you know—all about a blond gentleman that wants to meet you and a dark lady comin' over the water to do something mean to you. She charged high, but she had customers enough—swell ladies, too, in their automobiles, and old gentlemen and young and all like that.... Here's part of her outfit"—leading Athalie to the centre table and opening the green morocco box.
In the box was a slim bronze tripod and a big sphere of crystal. Mrs. Meehan placed the tripod on the table and set the crystal sphere upon it, saying dubiously: "She claimed that she could see things in that. I guess it was part of her game. I ain't never seen nothing into that glass ball, and I've looked, too. You can have it if you want it. It's kind of cute to set on the mantel."
She began to paw and grub and rummage in the big paper parcel, scratching about in the glittering mess of silk and embroidery with a pertinacity entirely gallinaceous.
"You can have these, too," she said to Athalie—"if you want 'em. They're heathen I guess—" holding up some tawdry Japanese and home-made Chinese finery.
But Athalie declined the dead woman's robes of office and Mrs. Meehan rolled them up in the wrapping
paper and took them and herself off, very profuse in her gratitude to Athalie for consenting to occupy the apartment and thereby remove the "jinx" that had inhabited it since the tragedy of the month before.
A very soft and melancholy mew from the basket informed the girl that Hafiz desired his liberty. So she let him out and he trotted at her heels as she walked about inspecting the apartment. Also he did considerable inspecting on his own account, sniffing at every door-sill and crack, jumping up on chairs to look out of windows, prowling in and out of closets, his plumy tail jerking with dubiousness and indecision.