Vixley drew up a rocking-chair for Clytie, and seated himself on the edge of the revolving chair in front of his desk, putting the tips of his long fingers together. "Francis Granthope is a bright young man," he said, "a very bright young man. Very painstaking, and very thorough. I won’t say he ain’t a _leetle_ bit unscrupulous, however. A man who ain’t got no psychic influence behind him has got to do some pretty good guessin’. Now you go to work and take me, with my control, Theodore Parker, and his band o’ spirits, I don’t need to bother much. I can get all I want out of the other plane. I ain’t sayin’ nothin’ against Granthope, except maybe that he uses methods, sometimes, that ain’t _exactly_ legitimate, such as what I was tellin’ you about." "How did he happen to give you these notes?" Clytie asked. "Why, I s’pose he expected me to give him an equivalent in return. I will say I have helped him out, at times, feelin’ rather predisposed toward him, and him bein’ a likely chap. But Lord, _I_ don’t need his help! And so I told him. In this case I didn’t feel called upon to give away none of my client’s affairs. Naturally he got a little huffy about it, and he’s acted so that I’m inclined to resent it. I can’t bear anything like ingratitude." He opened his desk and took from a pigeonhole two cards. He handed them to Clytie. "I was tellin’ Mr. Cayley, here, I knew about Granthope and his methods. It’ll show you what a poor business this palm-readin’ reely is. Lord, they ain’t nothin’ in it at all! If anybody wants to know anything about the future the only way to do is to establish communications with the spirit-plane through the well-known and well-tried methods of spiritualism." Clytie was not listening. Her eyes were upon the cards. She looked and looked, reading and re-reading, her face set in tense lines, the notes in Granthope’s fine, closely written hand. There it was, as he had set it down: Oliver Payson, b. Oct. 2nd, 1842. b. d. present from dau., bound copy of ’Montaigne’ 1900. Tattoo mark anchor on right arm, near shoulder. Writing a book. Economics (?) Knew Mad. Grant (?) Wife visited Mad. G. x. v. p. Clytie Payson. Engaged to Blanchard Cayley (?) Mole, left cheek. Ring with "Clytie" inside. Turquoises. Claims psychic power. Clairv. Goes to Merc. Lib. afternoons at 3. Buried doll under sun-dial in garden. As she came to the last line she dropped the card from her fingers. She had become a woman of ice. Vixley picked up the card and smiled, showing his yellow teeth. "Kind of a give-away, ain’t it? _I_ call his work lumpy." "I hope you’re convinced now," Cayley added. She turned her head slowly, deliberately, to the Professor. "When did Mr. Granthope give you this card?" "Oh, I dunno, exactly, he’s gave me so much, one time or another. About two weeks ago, I should judge. Why?"