"The little man is biting his lip. He seems to be thinking," (there was a pause in the narration). Presently Navarro went on. "The little man speaks again; he says:--'That is all very well, Doctor, but you know as well as I do--that you intend to use Ptahmes to destroy your rival. You haven't the courage to do it yourself.' The big man answers very quickly, 'And are you brave enough to tackle Pinsent? Yet his existence threatens all our plans. I firmly believe he has a notion of our ideas already. He is no fool and an adept at putting two and two together. Do you suppose he hasn't guessed at the reason of the success of your enormous transactions on 'Change?' The little man grinds his teeth. 'Curse him!' he shouts. 'Curse him to Hell!' The big man smiles. 'With all my heart,' he says, 'may he rot there for ever and ever! But all this proves to us how careful we should be of the waning strength of our magician. Remember the last time he tried odds with Pinsent on the Nile he got all the worst of the encounter. Three broken ribs! It's true we are more advanced in knowledge since then, and now we can make him quite invisible. But all the same we cannot afford to trifle with the strength of our subject, considering the two great tasks before him.'--Ah!----" The last expression was a groan. The medium moved restlessly, then groaned again. "Proceed! I command you!" said Miss Ottley in a trembling voice. But Navarro for a third time groaned, and he began to struggle on the couch. "Oh, God! he is waking up!" cried the girl. "Hold his hands tightly, Frankfort. He must tell us more! He must, he must!" But Navarro with a sudden spasmodic writhe and twist, broke away and sat erect. He was shaking like a man in an ague, and he began to pant and groan like a wounded animal. Miss Ottley gasped "Too late!" and wrung her hands. I handed the medium a glass of water, but he was trembling too violently to take it of himself. He spilt half the contents on his knee. I forced the rest into his mouth. It revived him. A little later he stood up. He was bathed in perspiration, and looked sick. But he rejected all offers of assistance. He seemed to be very angry. He declared that we had treated him most cruelly, and that we might have killed him. He would not be appeased, and he went off in the care of a footman filled with petulant resentment and mouthing stupid threats. It may have been a pose, part of his "business" intended for effect to impress his clients;--probably it was. But I am not sure. He certainly seemed to be in a highly over-wrought, nervous condition; he could not easily have affected that. After he had gone we all sat back in our chairs and stared at one another. Nobody was in the least haste to speak; we had so much to think about; and it was plain that "Fancy"--"Well, I never!" and ejaculations of that ilk did not even begin to meet the conversational demands of the occasion. Lady Helen was the first to speak.