“There will be a seance tonight,” he declared. “At Mr. Hallowell’s. If you wish to protest against it, you can do so there. This is my house. If you have finished--” He repeated the gesture toward the open door. “I have not finished,” said Miss Coates sharply; “and if you take my advice, you will follow her example.” With a nod of the head she signified Vera. “When she sees she’s in danger, she knows enough to stop. This is not a question of a few medium’s tricks,” she cried, contemptuously. “I know all that you planned to do, and I intend that tomorrow every one in New York shall know it too.” Like a cloak Vera’s self-possession fell from her. In alarm she moved forward. “What do you mean?” she demanded. “I have had you people followed pretty closely,” said Miss Coates. Her tone was assured. She was confident that of those before her she was the master, and that of that fact they were aware. “I know,” she went on, “just how you tried to impose upon my uncle--how you tried to rob me, and tonight I have invited the reporters to my house to give them the facts.” With a cry Vera ran to her. “No!” she begged, “you won’t do that. You must not do that!” “Let her talk!” growled Vance. “Let her talk! She’s funny.” “No!” commanded Vera. Her voice rang with the distress. “She cannot do that!” She turned to Miss Coates. “We haven’t hurt you,” she pleaded; “we haven’t taken your money. I promise you,” she cried, “we will never see Mr. Hallowell again. I beg of you--” Vance indignantly caught her by the arm and drew her back. “You don’t beg nothing of her!” he cried. “I do,” Vera answered wildly. She caught Vance’s hand in both of hers. “I have a chance, Paul,” she entreated, “don’t force me through it again. I can’t stand the shame of it again.” Once more she appealed to the visitor. “Don’t!” she begged. “Don’t shame me.” But the eyes of the older girl, blind to everything save what, as she saw it, was her duty, showed no consideration. Vera’s hands, trembling on his arm, drove Vance to deeper anger. He turned savagely upon Miss Coates. “You haven’t lost anything yet, have you?” he demanded. “She hasn’t hurt you, has she? If it’s revenge you want,” he cried insolently, “why don’t you throw vitriol on the girl?” “Revenge!” exclaimed Miss Coates indignantly. “It is my duty. My public duty. I’m not alone in this; I am acting with the District Attorney. It is our duty.” She turned suddenly and called, “Mr. Winthrop, Mr. Winthrop!” For the first time Vera saw, under the gas jet, at the farther end of the hall, the figures of Mannie and Winthrop. “No, no!” she protested, “I beg of you,” she cried hysterically. “I’ve got a chance. If you print this thing tomorrow, I’ll never have a chance again. Don’t take it away from me.” Impulsively her arms reached out in an eager final appeal. “I’m down,” she said simply, “give me a chance to get up.”