The thing was accomplished by means of charging the room with the perfume of ambergris. Ambergris, however, was expensive. Mr. Payson had to pay fifty dollars an ounce for his; moreover, a fresh supply was necessary for each séance as the material quickly absorbed the deleterious psycho-physical elements of the atmosphere, and became inert to vibration. Professor Vixley divided this revenue with Madam Spoll, but he could not divide his pleasure in his artful fiction. Madam Spoll was only a woman; the artistic niceties of the harlequinade were lost on her. This could not, however, go on for ever, nor were the two conspirators content to do business in so small a way. Both were convinced that the only chance for a large and permanent income lay in the production of Payson’s and Felicia’s child, and they set about the plan by which this should become remunerative. Ringa was settled upon for the impersonation. He was simple, easily taught and led; he was willing. He would be as easily managed when the time came for a division of the profits of the enterprise. And so, one day, Madam Spoll waddled out to Turk Street to complete the negotiations. Professor Vixley was bending over a small machine with horizontal arms in the form of a cross, decorated with mirrors, when she rang; before opening the door he covered the instrument with a black cloth and put it on his roll-top desk by the type-writer. Madam Spoll came in smiling, unruffled as if her face had been freshly ironed out. "I been walking lately, to reduce my flesh, but, Lord, I get such an appetite I eat more’n enough to balance," she panted, as she lowered herself carefully upon the quilted couch and crushed back into a sofa pillow, whereon was painted a fencing girl with a heart on her plastron. She loosened her beaded cape, and breathed heavily in relief. "Well, I managed to get here, after all! What d’you think? Mrs. Riley has been to me for a private setting. Do you recall her, Vixley? She’s that woman who was tried for murdering her husband some years back and was acquitted; or rather the jury was hung. Anyways, _she_ wasn’t. But I believe she done it. She’s as nervous as a cat, and can’t look you in the face to save her soul. It seems that she knew Madam Grant in the old days, and used to get readings off her. I don’t know but we could use her, someway." "Has she got any money?" said the slate-writer. "She keeps a boarding-house, I believe. It wouldn’t be much, but ’every little helps,’ as the old lady said when she spit into the harbor. I might work her for five a week, I s’pose, but now I think of it, Masterson’s doctoring her." "Then they won’t be much meat left on her bones!" Vixley grinned. "But I ain’t botherin’ with landladies till we finish with Payson. Did you see him yesterday?"