“Princess Lalla is so-o-o sor-ree”—the small, sing-song voice was raised a bit, so that Gus, who had strolled leisurely across the platform to take his stand behind Sally’s chair, might hear perfectly—“but ze creeystal she ees dark. She tell me nossing about ze nice-tall la-dee. Sometimes it ees so. Ze gen-tle-man weel give ze money back.” The thin little shoulders under the green satin jacket shrugged eloquently, the little brown hands spread themselves with a gesture of helplessness and regret. “Glad to refund your money, lady!” Gus sang out loudly. “Here you are! Better luck next time! Princess Lalla is the gen-u-ine article! If she don’t see nothing in the crystal for you, she don’t string you along—right here, lady! Here’s your money back—” Sally leaned back in her chair, weak with relief, her eyes closed, as Gus tried to urge her nemesis from the platform. In a moment the danger would be over— Then, so quickly was it done that Sally had not the slightest chance to shield her eyes, a hand had snatched the little black lace veil from her face. Terror-widened sapphire eyes stared, with betraying recognition, into narrowed, angry gray ones. Mrs. Stone nodded with grim satisfaction. “So Betsy was right! If that idiotic Amelia Pond had told me while the carnival was still in Capital City, I’d have been saved this trip. Get up from there, Sal—” A shriek from the throat of a woman in the audience, which was packed densely about the platform, interrupted the matron, successfully diverting the attention of the curious from the puzzling drama upon the platform. “I’ve been robbed! Help! Police!” Again the siren of a woman’s scream made the air hideous. “It was her! She was standing right by me! Police! Police!” Even Mrs. Stone was diverted for the moment. Gus, the barker, sprang to the edge of the platform as a red-faced, disheveled woman fought her way through the crowd to the platform. “What seems to be the trouble, madam?” Gus demanded loudly. “Who took your purse?” He reached a helping hand to the woman who was struggling to get to the steps leading to the platform. “It was _her_!” The “country woman,” whom Sally had recognized instantly as a “schiller,” an employe of the circus, extremely useful in just such emergencies, shook an angry forefinger in Mrs. Stone’s astounded face. “She’s got it right there in her hands! The gall of her! Standing right by me, she was, before she come up here to get her fortune told. Stole my purse, she did, right outa my hands—” “This is _my_ purse!” Mrs. Stone shrilled, her face suddenly strutted with blood. “I never heard of anything so brazen in my life! It’s my purse and I can prove it is.” She turned menacingly toward Gus, who was looking from one angry woman to another as if greatly embarrassed and perplexed. “Reckon I’d better call the constable and let him settle this thing,” he said apologetically. “I’m a deppity sheriff,” a man called loudly from the audience. “Make way for the law!”