"No, I didn't mean that. They're all fanatics. You should see the spirit-paintings and the slate-writings in that house! It was like a journey to a far country. Really, Morton, it staggers belief to think that within twenty blocks of where we sit such a man and such a home can exist. They _do_ exist, and it only makes me realize how small a part of the city we know, after all. And some things I heard there to-day make me wonder if science _isn't_ shutting its eyes--as these people say--to a world right under its nose. Morton, those people _believe_ what they talk. That girl is honest; she may be self-deceived, but her sufferings are real. I can't believe that she is wicked." "Weissmann practically advised me to go into a study of these morbid conditions." "He did? Well, that from Rudolph Weissmann, after what I've _seen_ to-day, unsettles my reason. Maybe those people really have a message. But, Morton, you really must do something for that girl. Her condition is pitiful. One of the plans of that lunatic Clarke is to issue a challenge to the world of science and to throw that girl into the arena for you scientists to tear." Morton started--stared. "No! Not a public challenge." "Isn't it pitiful? Yes, he's going to speak on the second of next month at the Spirit Temple, and he's going to publicly describe Viola's powers, and, as her manager, challenge the world to prove her false." As Morton's mind flashed over the consequences of this challenge, his face paled. "Good God, what an ordeal! But the girl, does she consent?" "She does and she doesn't. As a sweet, nice child she shrinks from it; but as a 'psychic,' as they call her, she has no choice. These inner forces seem able to take her by the throat any minute. They seized her while I was there. Morton, she impersonated Aunt Dosia, and delivered the most vindictive message--she scared me blue. You never saw anything more dramatic--more awful." "What was the message?" "Something about a debt she wanted us to pay. She was furious about it. I don't know of any debt; do you?" "No. How did the message come?" As Kate described it, the impersonation grew grotesque, lost much of its power to horrify, and Morton, though he writhed at thought of the girl's depravity, blamed the mother and Clarke for it. Kate made end by saying: "It _was_ horrible to see, and it startled me. Then the other messages, those written ones, came through her hand--" "Automatic writing, they call it. That has no value--none whatever. The whole programme was arranged for your benefit." "No, it wasn't. The girl was carried out of herself. She is somehow enslaved by Clarke, and she wants help. She wants to be investigated; but she wants it done privately. She wants you to do it. She begs you to do it." "Begs me?" His eyebrows lifted.