“Nearly so.” “I knew it was.” “How did you know it?” “Because of my impression, that of being carried away in the cars,” explained the woman. “I presumably get it from you, sir, for I am susceptible to all of the conditions surrounding those who come here to consult me.” “That is quite mysterious.” “So many think.” “How do you explain it?” “I don’t explain it. I know only that it is so.” “Yet——” “One moment, please!” exclaimed Madame Victoria, again leaning nearer. “You have recently lost something, Mr. Sibley.” Nick laughed. “Can you direct me how to find it?” he asked. “Am I right?” “Yes.” “I cannot tell what it is, yet—yet I feel that you miss something usually carried on your person.” “That is true.” “No, I cannot direct you how to find it—at least, not at present. It is not still, not located yet. It is moving—moving—moving. I see smoke and hear guns. I feel the same impression as a moment ago—that you have lately been in danger.” Again she was speaking with that rapid, vehement earnestness as before, as if every sensitive string of her delicate organism had been suddenly struck, thrilling her with new and strangely correct impressions. Nick Carter sat watching her as a cat watches a mouse, but he could detect no sign of simulation or treachery. Her voice, looks, actions, and constantly changing moods all appeared to be perfectly genuine. “I admit that I recently have been in danger,” said he, in reply to her last remark. Madame Victoria bowed over the table, again fixing her eyes upon him with that strangely intensified stare. “There are greater dangers before you,” she rapidly declared. “Is that so?” inquired Nick, wondering what was now coming. “Much greater dangers.” “Of what kind?” “Many kinds.” “A general assortment, eh?” “You regard them lightly, but I judge that to be like you.” “Rather.” “If you do so at this time, Mr. Sibley, you will do wrong.” “Why so?” “The perils threatening you cannot be wisely ignored. I am impressed with a conviction that your life is imperiled by——Stop a moment!” “Well?” Again Madame Victoria beat her brow, shaking her head violently, apparently striving to get a clear interpretation of her impressions. “Ah, I have it!” she suddenly cried. “You are in Boston on business—perilous business.” “Well?” queried Nick, determined to tell her nothing. “You came to me for advice?” “Yes.” “Then I advise you to drop it.” “Drop what?” “This perilous business.” “Do you know of what it consists?” “I do not get any impression of that,” replied Madame Victoria, with curious nervous efforts to make her mind receptive to the information desired, efforts that brought the perspiration to her neck and brow in tiny drops. “No, no. I do not get it—cannot get it,” she presently added, with a gasp. “I have no idea of what it consists. Yet I advise you to drop it.” “Because of the dangers it involves?” “Yes.”