As the thing moved slowly, oh so slowly across the wall, there came the sound of whispers—whispered words that could be heard but not understood.
Florence was ready to flee. But what of June? She must not leave her. This thing was horrible. Yet it was fascinating.
And then, close beside her, there was a movement. Looking down quickly, she caught two golden gleams. “The goat’s horns. He has moved, he is near me!” She was filled with fresh terror.
And then the light began returning. Slowly as it had faded, so slowly did it return.
Once again Florence looked at that spot close by her side. The goat was not there. Her eyes sought the opposite corner. There lay the goat, apparently fast asleep.
“I have asked the spirit of Cristophe.” The priestess spoke in her usual melodious drawl. “He says dere must be gold, much gold. A statue to his memory must be built. There must be gold, much gold. He will tell all things—all—all things for gold.
“There now!” she ended abruptly. “Some other time, you shall know all. There must be gold, much gold—”
And then, for the second time, Florence saw it, the shadow on the wall. It was the same, the very same as that she had seen on Madame Zaran’s midnight blue drapes. There was the sharp nose, the curved chin, all that made up a perfect Satan’s face. One second it was there, the next it was gone. But in that second Florence saw the large black woman half rise as a look of surprise not unmixed with fear overspread her face. Then, as the shadow faded, she dropped heavily back into the arms of the chair that might have been a throne.
A bell tinkled. The brown girl appeared. They were led out into the light of day.
“She—she didn’t even take my ten dollars,” June whispered.