She passed him as he held the door open for her. The inner room was not less seemly than the outer. Except for three doors and one broad window looking out on an area, it was walled with bookcases some eight feet high, broken only where there were set into them two small cabinets with drawers below. The glass doors of the bookcases were of small panes, and the books within were in exquisite bindings. Topping the cases were several splendid bronze busts. The furniture was completed by a round mahogany center-table, several small chairs and three tapestried armchairs. When Mrs. Llewellyn had seated herself in one the clairvoyant took another. His agitation was so extreme that had she been capable of fear it would almost have frightened her; her curiosity it greatly piqued. He was as pale as a swarthy man can be, his lips bloodless and twitching, dry and moistening themselves one against the other as he mechanically swallowed in his nervousness. She herself was perturbed in soul, but an eye less practised than his would have discerned no signs of emotion beneath her easy exterior. They faced each other in silence for some breaths; then he spoke: “For what purpose have you come here?” “To consult you,” she answered. “Is it astonishing? Do not all sorts of persons come to consult you?” “All sorts,” he replied. “But none such as you. Never any such as you.” “I have come, it seems,” she said simply, “and to consult you.” “In what way do you mean to consult me?” he queried. “People consult me in various ways.” “I had in mind,” she said, “the answers you give by writing on the inside of a shut slate.” “You have come to the wrong man,” he said harshly, with an obvious effort that made his voice unnatural. “Go elsewhere,” and he rose. She gazed at him in astonishment without moving. “Why do you say that?” she demanded. He opened each of the three doors, looked outside and then made sure that each was latched. He looked out of the window, glancing at each of the other windows visible from it. He hobbled once or twice up and down the room, mopping his forehead and face with his handkerchief; then he seated himself again. “Mrs. Llewellyn,” he said, “I must request your promise of entire and permanent secrecy for what I am about to tell you.” “Anyone would suppose,” she said, “that you were the client and I the clairvoyant.” “Acknowledging that,” he replied. “Let it pass, I beg of you. I have told you that you have come to the wrong man. I bade you go elsewhere. You ask for an explanation. I have fortified myself to give it to you. But I must have your pledge of silence if you desire an explanation.” “I do desire it and you have my promise.” He looked around the room with the movement of a rat in a cage. His eyes met hers, but shifted uneasily, and his shamefaced gaze fell to the floor. His hands clutched each other upon his lame knee.