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THE EVIL SPIRIT

Penelope sprang up from the divan panting with anger. Her hair was dishevelled. Her bare shoulders gleamed in the shadows. She glared at Seraphine.

“How dare you come in here?” she demanded insolently. “What do you want here?”

With a smile of infinite compassion Mrs. Walters approached like a loving mother. “My child! My dear child!” she said tenderly.

But the mad young creature repulsed her. “No, no! I hate you! Go away!”

The newcomer turned reassuringly to Captain Herrick. “I am Penelope's friend—Seraphine.”

“Ha! Seraphine! I am Fauvette! What do I care for you?” The frantic one snapped her fingers at the other woman.

“Penelope!” pleaded Christopher, shocked at her violence.

She turned on him in fury. “You fool! You wouldn't take the chance I offered you.”

“I will quiet her,” said Mrs. Walters to Herrick. “Don't be alarmed.”

“You can't quiet me. I'll say anything I damn please. Go on, quiet me! Quiet Fauvette! I'd like to see you do it. Ha, ha, ha!” Her wild laughter rang through the apartment.

Christopher's face was tense with alarm and distress. “What can I do? What is the matter with her?” he appealed to Seraphine.

“She is ill. She is not herself,” was the grave reply. “I'll call Dr. Owen; I'll tell him to come at once.”

He hurried out of the room and the two women faced each other.

Fauvette sank back on the divan and lay there in sullen defiance. “Now we're alone—you and I. What are you going to do about it?” was her harsh challenge.

The psychic did not answer, but her lips moved as if in prayer; then she spoke sternly, her deep eyes widening: “I see your scarlet lights, your sinister face.”

From the shadowy corner Fauvette sneered: “I see your soft, sentimental Christmas card face. I'm not afraid of you. I laugh at you.” And peals of shrill, almost satanic, laughter rang through the room.

Seraphine advanced slowly, holding out her hands.

“I know your ways, creature of darkness. I command you to leave this pure body that you would defile.”

And fierce the answer came: “No! Damn you! You are not strong enough to drive me out.”

“Think of the tortures you are preparing for yourself.”

“Don't you worry about my tortures.”

“Have pity on Penelope. It will be counted in your favor.”

There were snarling throat-sounds, then these menacing words: “No! I'm going to put Penelope out of business.”

“Where is Penelope now?”

“She is sleeping. Poor nut!”

“She knows nothing about Fauvette?”

“Nothing.”

“She remembers nothing that Fauvette says?”

“Nothing.”

There was a long silence in the darkened room while Seraphine prayed.

“You know very well that Dr. Leroy can drive you out,” she said presently.

“He can't do it. Let him try. Nobody can drive me out. Besides, you won't get Dr. Leroy.”

“Why not?”

“This other doctor won't have him.”

“Dr. Owen?”

“Yes. I know damned well how to fix him. I'll tell him some things that will make him sit up and take notice.”

“How do you mean you will fix him?”

“Never mind. You'll see. If I can't have Herrick, Penelope is never going to have him.”

The medium closed her eyes and seemed to listen. “You mean Penelope will never have him because of something you are going to tell Dr. Owen—something about—about chemistry?” she groped for the word.

“Ye-es,” unwillingly.

“Dr. Owen will not believe you.”

“He will believe me.”

“No!” declared Seraphine dreamily. “There are greater powers than you fighting for Penelope.”