"I won’t have it!" Mr. Payson began to storm. "Reading palms for a lot of silly women is a very different thing from spiritualism. I don’t mind her going to see him once for the curiosity of the thing, but I won’t have him in the house. I’ll put a stop to that in a hurry. You say you’ve seen them together? Where?" "Oh, I think it was probably an accidental meeting," he said. "I wish you wouldn’t say anything about it, Mr. Payson. Very likely it doesn’t mean anything at all. Tell me about this fellow you spoke of going to. Do you think he’s all right?" "I’ll soon find out if he isn’t—trust me!" Mr. Payson wagged his head wisely. "His name is Professor Vixley, and I’ve heard he’s a very remarkable man. I’m going to see him next week and see what he can do for me. I’m not one to be fooled by any claptrap; I intend to sift this thing to the bottom." "How do you intend to go about it?" Cayley asked. "I’ll tell you what I’d do. I’d ask him to answer a few definite questions. If he can do that, it’ll be a pretty good test, even if it is only thought-reading." "If there’s anything in thought transference there may be something in spiritualism, too. One’s as unexplainable as the other. See here! Suppose I ask him something that I don’t know the answer to myself—wouldn’t that prove it is not telepathy?" "I should say so; but what could you ask?" Mr. Payson had arisen, and was walking up and down the room with his hands behind his back. He stopped to deliberate beside the bookcase, then he took down a volume at random. "Suppose I ask him what the first word is on page one hundred of this book." He looked over at Cayley, then down at the title of the book. "_The Astrology of the Old Testament_—queer I should put my hand on that! I’ll try it. I won’t look at the page at all." He put the book back on the shelf. "Can’t you suggest something? Suppose you give me a question that you know the answer of and I don’t." Blanchard Cayley sought for an idea, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. Then he said slowly: "I used to know a girl once in Sacramento who lived next door to me. Try Vixley on her name, why don’t you?" "Good! I’ll do it. Now one more." "You might ask him the number of your watch." "That’s a good idea; then I can corroborate that on the spot." "You’d better let me see if there’s one there, though," Cayley suggested. "I believe sometimes they are not numbered. Just let me look." Mr. Payson took out his watch and handed it to the young man, who opened the back cover and inspected the works. He noted the number, took a second glance at it and then snapped the cover shut. "All right, if he can tell that number, he’s clever." He handed it back to Mr. Payson. "When did you say you were going to see him?" he asked.