Clarice was gazing intently into the eye sockets of the idol. She saw--what was not visible to Carter where he stood--two staring eyes that were _alive_! “You will obey--obey--obey!” The voice sounded like the distant murmur of rushing waters. It was rather that of some strange, unearthly being than of anything human. “I will obey,” replied the girl, in a dull monotone. To Nick it sounded as if she were talking in her sleep, but she never relaxed her hold on the brazen shoulder, and she stood perfectly upright on the stepladder. “It is well,” went on the mysterious voice. “You know what to do. Follow the instructions that will come to you later.” “How am I to know?” she gasped. “Listen! Bring your face close to my lips. What I have to tell is for you alone.” Nick Carter thought he heard her utter a low cry of terror and protest. But immediately afterward she pressed her beautiful, warm cheek against the brazen mouth of the image, and Nick saw in her eyes that she was not cognizant of anything save the message that had already begun to come to her. The detective made an impulsive step forward. Should he dash up the steps, drag the girl away, and see for himself what this strange scene meant? He knew that the whole contrivance was some fiendish trick. But who had arranged it, and why, was beyond him. Ched Ramar was a man of high standing in the scientific world--even though he had not been long known in New York. It was inconceivable that he could have any evil purpose in all this. And yet--what was it all about? If it was an experiment of some kind, to prove a scientific or psychic theory, then certainly this East Indian must not be allowed to work it out with the aid of this innocent young girl. Still, it was not for him, Nick Carter, to interfere, until he knew. All he could do was to watch, and be ready to give help if it should be needed. He kept still and waited. For two or three minutes the girl stood there, while a low murmur reached Nick’s ears, telling him that the image--or somebody inside it--was talking to Clarice Bentham. At last she moved back, and again came the distinct words: “You will obey!” “I will obey,” she replied. “It is well. Before you leave this house, a small gold image of myself will be placed in your hands. Each afternoon, at six o’clock, you will look into its eyes. As you do so, you will be subject to my will. It will be my eyes you will see there.” “Bunk!” muttered Nick Carter. “If I have any orders for you,” continued the voice, “you will hear my suggestions, for at that very moment I shall be sending mental messages. If I have none for you, you will put the image away--until the next afternoon. You understand?” “Yes.” “That is all. You will forget all about this--that you have looked into my eyes and heard my voice. You will not remember how long you have been standing up here, and you will not recall anything when the small image is given to you. Now! Awake!”