"No, that won’t do," she answered emphatically. "We got to play fair. They’ve always been square with us, and they won’t catch him, I’ll see to that. Mayhew’s straight enough and if Sadie tries to get gay with us, we can fix her and she knows it. And the more easy tests he gets, the better for us. It’ll keep him going, and so long as they don’t go too far, it’ll help us. The sooner he gets so he don’t want to impose test conditions, the better, and they can help convert him for us. I’ll ring up Mayhew now. I’ve got a good hunch that Payson will show up there to-night." She raised her bulk from the couch and went to the telephone by the window, calling for Mayhew’s number. When she had got it, she said: "Is this number thirty-one? ... Yes, I’m number fifteen.... Sure! Oh, pretty good! ... I got a tip for you. I’m playing a six-year-old for the handicap, named Oliver. Carries sixty pounds, colors blue and gray, ten hands, jockey is Payson. He’s a ten-to-one shot. My wife Grace lived in Stockton. Do what you can for me, but keep your hands off, do you understand? Numbers forty and thirteen are with me in this deal and we’ll fix it for you if you stand in ... yes, all right! If he shows up let me know to-morrow morning, sure." She turned to the two men. "I guess that’s all right now." "What’s all that about Stockton?" Vixley asked. "He lived there once and there’s something more about his wife or something. Mayhew may fish it out of him, and if he does I’ll put you on." "I ain’t seen him yet," said the doctor, "but I guess I’ll recognize him. Sixty years old, Oliver Payson, one hundred and sixty pounds, blue eyes and gray hair, six feet tall. Are you sure he’s a ten-to-one, though? That cuts more ice than anything." "Oh, sure!" said Madam Spoll. "Why, he swallowed the whole dose. He ain’t doing no skeptic business. He thinks he’s an investigator. Wait till you hear him talk and you’ll understand. Not religious, you know, but a good old sort. He’s caught all right, and if we jolly him along, we can polish him off good." "They ought to be some good materializin’ graft in that wife proposition. Grace, was it? We might turn him over to Flora for that." This from Vixley. "I’ve been thinking of that," said Madam Spoll, "but I don’t know whether he’ll stand for it or not. It won’t be anywheres near the snap it was with Bennett, in full daylight, and we’ll have to have special players. I believe I can put my hands on one or two that can help us out, though. Miss French for one; she’s got four good voices. Then there’s a young girl I got my eye on that’ll do anything I say. She’s slim and she can work an eight-inch panel as slick as soap; and she’s got a memory for names and faces that beats the directory. Besides, I believe she’s really psychic. I’ve seen her do some wonderful things at mind-reading." "No, can she really!" said Vixley.