Ched Ramar placed a chair for her in the middle of the room, where she faced the large statue. Nick observed that, as he passed her, he waved one long hand before her face--twice! There was a slight twitch in the girl’s eyelids, and her stare at the image became more intense. The tall Indian went out of the room--by the door at which Nick Carter and his companions had entered--and which was near the Buddha. For a few moments there was stillness. Then, from somewhere came a deep, subdued voice, almost like the sighing of a strong wind. “Come!” it said. “What does all this mean?” whispered Chick to his chief. “Hush!” was all Nick replied. The girl was slowly rising from her chair. As she did so, the opera cloak dropped from her, revealing her white shoulders in the décolleté gown and the equally white arms, bare except for a jeweled bracelet on each wrist. She stood perfectly still in front of the chair, her vacant gaze toward the brazen face of the great effigy. “Come!” repeated the strange voice. With measured steps she walked forward, and without hesitation went up the ladder which stood in front of the Buddha. She stood there, in about the same position that Nick Carter had seen her before. One hand rested on the idol’s shoulder, and she was looking into the large eye sockets as if held under a deep spell. “Say, chief! Let’s get after this,” whispered Chick restively. “We can’t let this go on.” “Keep quiet, Chick!” “You will obey--obey--obey!” moaned the deep voice. The girl did not speak. She only stared. Nick Carter could not see her eyes now, because her face was turned away, but he had no doubt that some intelligence had come into them, and that she was looking into those strange eyes which had appeared in the idol’s sockets on the former occasion. “Speak! I command!” went on the idol. “You will obey?” “Yes, I will obey,” replied Clarice, in a low monotone. “It will be death if you do not,” said the deep voice. “It will be death!” repeated Clarice. “Before you leave this house, a package of papers will be placed in your hand.” “A package of papers!” she repeated, like an automaton. “Those papers, with the exception of a few, are the same that you brought this morning.” “The same that I brought.” “You will take them from here and return them to the place from which you took them. Afterward, you will go to the ball and forget where you have been--or what you have done.” “Forget!” she answered, in the same strange, toneless accents. “Forget utterly! Forget! Obey!” She repeated the words slowly, and each accent was perfectly clear, although it seemed as if she uttered them without knowing that she was speaking. It was an awe-inspiring spectacle--this fair young girl, in the fripperies of her handsome ball dress, standing there, talking to an image, and never taking her gaze from its unnatural eyes.