“Prof.” Paul Vance was a young man of under forty years. He looked like
a fox. He had red eyes, alert and cunning, a long, sharp-pointed nose,
a pointed red beard, and red eyebrows that slanted upward. His hair,
standing erect in a pompadour, and his uplifted eyebrows gave him the
watchful look of the fox when he hears suddenly the hound baying in
pursuit. But no one had ever successfully pursued Vance. No one had ever
driven him into a corner from which, either pleasantly, or with raging
indignation, he was not able to free himself. Seven years before he had
disloyally married out of the “profession” and for no other reason than
that he was in love with the woman he married. She had come to seek
advice from the spirit world in regard to taking a second husband. After
several visits the spirit world had advised Vance to advise her to marry
Vance.
She did so, and though the man was still in love with his wife, he had
not found her, in his work, the assistance he had hoped she might
be. She still was a “believer”; in the technical vernacular of her
husband--“a dope.” Not even the intimate knowledge she had gained
behind the scenes could persuade her that Paul, her husband, was not in
constant communication with the spirit world, or that, if he wished, he
could not read the thoughts that moved slowly through her pretty head.
At the time of his marriage, the girl Vera, then a child of fourteen,
had written to Vance for help. She was ill, without money, and asked for
work. To him she was known as the last of a long line of people who had
always been professional mediums and spiritualists, and, out of
charity and from a sense of noblesse oblige to one of the elect of the
profession, Vance had made her his assistant. He had never regretted
having done so. The bread cast upon the waters was returned a
thousandfold. From the first, the girl brought in money. And his wife,
the older of the two, had welcomed her as a companion. After a fashion
the Vances had adopted her. In the advertisements she was described as
their “ward.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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