“Well?” he demanded sharply. “I thought you had finished your talk,” protested the Judge. “Mr. Hallowell is anxious to begin.” Winthrop turned and looked at Vera steadily. For an instant the eyes of the girl faltered, and then she returned his glance with one as resolute as his own. As though accepting her verdict as final, Winthrop walked quickly to the door. “I shall be downstairs,” he said, “when this is over, let me know.” Gaylor struggled to conceal his surprise and satisfaction. “You won’t be here for the seance?” he exclaimed. “Certainly not,” cried Winthrop. “I--” He broke off suddenly. Without again looking toward Vera, or trying to hide his displeasure, he left the room. Gaylor turned to the girl. He was smiling with relief. “Excellent!” he muttered. “Excellent! What was he saying to you,” he asked eagerly, “as I came in--that you would fail?” The girl moved past him to the door. “Yes,” she answered dully. “But you will not!” cried the man. “We’re all counting on you, you know. Destroy the old will. Sign the new will,” he quoted. He came close to her and whispered. “That means thousands of dollars to you and Vance,” he urged. The girl turned and regarded him with unhappy, angry eyes. “You need not be frightened,” she answered. For the man before her and for herself, her voice was bitter with contempt and self-accusation. “Mr. Winthrop is mistaken. He does not know me,” she said miserably. “I shall not fail.” For a moment, after she had left him, Gaylor stood motionless, his eyes filled with concern, and then, with a shrug, as though accepting either good or evil fortune, he called from the bedroom Mr. Hallowell, and, from the floor below, the guests of Hallowell and of Vance. As Hallowell, supported by Rainey, sank into the invalid’s chair in the centre of the semicircle, Gaylor made his final appeal. “Stephen,” he begged, “are you sure you’re feeling strong enough? Won’t some other night--” The old man interrupted him querulously. “No, now! I want it over,” he commanded. “Who knows,” he complained, “how soon it may be before--” The sight of Mannie entering the room with Vance caused him to interrupt himself abruptly. He greeted the showman with a curt nod. “And who is this?” he demanded. Mannie, to whom a living millionaire was much more of a disturbing spectacle than the ghost of Alexander the Great, retreated hastily behind Vance. “He is my assistant,” Vance explained. “He furnishes the music.” He pushed Mannie toward the organ. “Music!” growled Hallowell. “Must there be music?” “It is indispensable,” protested Vance. “Music, sir, is one of the strongest psychic influences. It--” “Nonsense!” cried Hallowell. “Tricks,” he muttered, “tricks!” Vance shrugged his shoulders, and smiled in deprecation. “I am sorry to find you in a skeptical mood, Mr. Hallowell,” he murmured reprovingly “It will hardly help to produce good results. Allow me,” he begged, “to present two true believers.”