CHAPTER VI
THE CLAIRVOYANTS
"Do you believe in dreams?" Constance Dunlap looked searchingly at herinterrogator, as if her face or manner betrayed some new side of hercharacter.
Mrs. deForest Caswell was an attractive woman verging on forty, achance acquaintance at a shoppers' tea room downtown who had proved tobe an uptown neighbor.
"I have had some rather strange experiences, Mildred," confessedConstance tentatively. "Why!"
"Because--" the other woman hesitated, then added, "why should I nottell you! Last night, Constance, I had the strangest dream. It has leftsuch an impression on me that I can't shake it off, although I havetried all day."
"Yes? Tell me about it."
Mildred Caswell paused a moment, then began slowly, as if not to omitanything from her story.
"I dreamt that Forest was dying. I could see him, could see the doctorand the nurse, everything. And yet somehow I could not get to him. Iwas afraid, with such an oppressive fear. I tried--oh, how I tried! Istruggled, and how badly I felt!" and she shuddered at the veryrecollection.
"There seemed to be a wall," she resumed, "a narrow wall in the way andI couldn't get over it. As often as I tried, I fell. And then I seemedto be pursued by some kind of animal, half bull, half snake. I ran. Itfollowed closely. I seemed to see a crowd of people and I felt that ifI could only get to that crowd, somehow I would be safe, perhaps mighteven get over the wall and--I woke up--almost screaming."
The woman's face was quite blanched.
"My dear," remonstrated Constance, "you must not take it so.Remember--it was only a dream.
"I know it was only a dream," she said, "but you don't know what isback of it."
Mildred Caswell had from time to time hinted to Constance of thegrowing incompatibility of her married life, but as Constance wasgetting used to confidences, she had kept silent, knowing that herfriend would tell her in time.
"You must have guessed," faltered Mrs. Caswell, "that Forest and I arenot--not on the best of terms, that we are getting further and furtherapart."
It rather startled Constance to hear frankly stated what she alreadyhad observed. She wondered how far the estrangement had gone. The factwas that she had rather liked deForest Caswell, although she had onlymet her friend's husband a few times. In fact she was surprised thatmomentarily there flashed through her mind the query as to whetherMildred herself might be altogether blameless in the growinguncongeniality.
Mildred Caswell had drawn out of her chatelaine a bit of newspaper andhanded it to Constance, not as if it was of any importance to herselfbut as if it would explain better than she could tell what she meant.
Constance read:
MME. CASSANDRA, THE VEILED PROPHETESS
Born with a double veil, educated in occult mysteries in Egypt andIndia. Without asking a question, tells your name and reads your secrettroubles and the remedy. Reads your dreams. Great questions of lifequickly solved. Failure turned to success, the separated broughttogether, advice on all affairs of life, love, marriage, divorce,business, speculation, and investments. Overcomes all evil influences.Ever ready to help and advise those with capital to find a safe andpaying investment. No fee until it succeeds. Could anything be fairer?
THE RETREAT, -- W. 47th Street.
"Won't you come with me to Madame Cassandra?" asked Mrs. Caswell, asConstance finished reading. "She always seems to do me so much good."
"Who is Madame Cassandra?" asked Constance, rereading the last part ofthe advertisement.
"I suppose you would call her a dream doctor," said Mildred.
It was a new idea to Constance, this of a dream doctor to settle theaffairs of life. Only a moment she hesitated, then she answered simply,"Yes, I'll go."
"The retreat" was just off Longacre Square among quite a nest offakers. A queue of automobiles before the place testified, however, tothe prosperity of Madame Cassandra, as they entered the bronze grilledplate glass door and turned on the first floor toward the home of theAdept. Constance had an uncomfortable feeling as they entered of beingwatched behind the shades of the apartment. Still, they had no troublein being admitted, and a soft-voiced colored attendant welcomed them.
The esoteric flat of Madame Cassandra was darkened except for theelectric lights glowing in amber and rose-colored shades. There wereseveral women there already. As they entered Constance had noticed apeculiar, dreamy odor. There did not seem to be any hurry, any suchthing as time here, so skilfully was the place run. There was no noise;the feet sank in half-inch piles of rugs, and easy-chairs and divanswere scattered about.
Once a puff of light smoke appeared, and Constance awoke to the factthat some were smoking little delicately gold-banded cigarettes. Indeedit was all quite recherche.
Mrs. Caswell took one from a maid. So did Constance, but after a puffor two managed to put it out and later to secure another which she kept.
Madame Cassandra herself proved to be a tall, slender, pale woman withdark hair and a magnetic eye, an eye that probably accounted more thananything else for her success. She was clad in a house gown of purplishsilk which clung tightly to her, and at her throat a diamond pendantsparkled, as well as other brilliants on her long, slender fingers.
She met Mildred and Constance with outstretched hands.
"So glad to see you, my dears," purred Madame, leading the way into aninner sanctum.
Mrs. Caswell had seated herself with the air of one who worshiped atthe shrine, while Constance gazed about curiously.
"Madame," she began a little tremulously, "I have had another of thosedreadful dreams."
"You poor dear soul," soothed Madame, stroking her hand. "Tell me ofit--all."
Quickly Mrs. Caswell poured forth her story as she had already told itto Constance.
"My dear Mrs. Caswell," remarked the high priestess slowly, when thestory was complete, "it is all very simple. His love is dead. That iswhat you fear and it is the truth. The wall is the wall that he haserected against you. Try to forget it--to forget him. You would bebetter off. There are other things in the world--"
"Ah, but I cannot live as I am used to without money," murmured Mrs.Caswell.
"I know," replied Madame. "It is that that keeps many a woman with abrute. When financial and economic independence come, then woman willbe free and only then. Now, listen. Would you like to befree--financially? You remember that delightful Mr. Davies who has beenhere? Yes? Well, he is a regular client of mine, now. He is a brokerand never embarks in any enterprise without first consulting me. Justthe other day I read his fortune in United Traction. It has gone upfive points already and will go fifteen more. If you want, I will giveyou a card to him. Let me see--yes, I can do that. You too will belucky in speculation."
Constance, with one ear open, had been busy looking about the room. Ina bookcase she saw a number of books and paused to examine theirtitles. She was surprised to see among the old style dream booksseveral works on modern psychology, particularly on the interpretationof dreams.
"Of course, Mrs. Caswell, I don't want to urge you," Madame was saying."I have only pointed out a way in which you can be independent. And,you know, Mr. Davies is a perfect gentleman, so courteous and reliable.I know you will be successful if you take my advice and go to him."
Mildred said nothing for a few moments, but as she rose to go sheremarked, "Thank you very much. I'll think about it. Anyhow, you'vemade me feel better."
"So kind of you to say it," murmured the Adept. "I'm sorry you must go,but really I have other appointments. Please come again--with yourfriend. Good-bye."
"What do you think of her?" asked Mrs. Caswell on the street.
"Very clever," answered Constance dubiously.
Mrs. Caswell looked up quickly. "You don't like her?"
"To tell the truth," confessed Constance quietly, "I have had too muchexperience in Wall Street myself to trust to a clairvoyant."
They had scarcely reached the corner before Constance again had t
hatpeculiar feeling which some psychologists have noted, of being staredat. She turned, but saw no one. Still the feeling persisted. She couldstand it no longer.
"Don't think me crazy, Mildred," she said, "but I just have a desire towalk back a block."
Constance had turned suddenly. As she glanced keenly about she wasaware of a familiar figure gazing into the window of an art storeacross the street. He had stopped so that although his back was turnedhe could, by a slight shift of his position, still see by means of amirror in the window what was going on across the street behind him.
One look was enough. It was Drummond, the detective. What did it mean?
Neither woman said much as they rode uptown, and parted on therespective floors of their apartment house. Still Constance could notget out of her head the recollection of the dream doctor and ofDrummond.
Restless, she determined that night to go down to the Public Libraryand see whether any of the books at the clairvoyant's were on theshelves. Fortunately she found some, found indeed that they were notall, as she had half suspected, the works of fakers but that quite aliterature had been built up around the new psychology of dreams.
Deeply she delved into the fascinating subjects that had been opened bythe studies of the famous Dr. Sigmund Freud of Vienna, and as she readshe found that she began to understand much about Mrs. Caswell--and,with a start, about her own self.
At first she revolted against the unpleasant feature of the new dreamphilosophy--the irresistible conclusion that all humanity, underneaththe shell, is sensuous or sensual in nature, that practically alldreams portray some delight of the senses and that sexual dreams are alarge proportion of all visions. But the more she thought of it, themore clearly was she able to analyze Mrs. Caswell's dream and to getback at the causes of it, in the estrangement from her husband andperhaps the brutality of his ignorance of woman. And then, too, therewas Drummond. What was he doing in the case?
She did not see Mildred Caswell again until the following afternoon.But then she seemed unusually bright in contrast with the depression ofthe day before. Constance was not surprised. Her intuition told herthat something had happened and she hardly needed to guess that Mrs.Caswell had followed the advice of the clairvoyant and had been to seethe wonderful Mr. Davies, to whom the mysteries of the stock marketwere an open book.
"Have you had any other dreams?" asked Constance casually.
"Yes," replied Mildred, "but not like the one that depressed me. Lastnight I had a very pleasant dream. It seemed that I was breakfastingwith Mr. Davies. I remember that there was a hot coal fire in thegrate. Then suddenly a messenger came in with news that United Tractionhad advanced twenty points. Wasn't it strange?"
Constance said nothing. In fact it did not seem strange to her at all.The strange thing to her, now that she was a sort of amateur dreamreader herself, was that Mrs. Caswell did not seem to see the realimport of her own dream.
"You have seen Mr. Davies to-day?" Constance ventured.
Mrs. Caswell laughed. "I wasn't going to tell you. You seemed so setagainst speculating in Wall Street. But since you ask me, I may as welladmit it."
"When did you see him before?" went on Constance. "Did you have muchinvested with him already?"
Mrs. Caswell glanced up, startled. "My--you are positively uncanny,Constance. How did you know I had seen him before?"
"One seldom dreams," said Constance, "about anything unless it has beensuggested by an event of the day before. You saw him today. That wouldnot have inspired the dream of last night. Therefore I concluded thatyou must have seen him and invested before. Madame Cassandra's mentionof him yesterday caused the dream of last night. The dream of lastnight probably influenced you to see him again to-day, and you investedin United Traction. That is the way dreams work. Probably more ofconduct than we know is influenced by dream life. Now, if you shouldget fifteen or twenty points you would be in a fair way to join theranks of those who believe that dreams do come true."
Mrs. Caswell looked at her almost alarmed, then attempted to turn itoff with a laugh, "And perhaps breakfast with him?"
"When I do set up as interpreter of dreams," answered Constance simply,"I'll tell you more."
On one point she had made up her mind. That was to visit Mr. Daviesherself the next day.
She found his office a typical bucket shop, even down to having asection partitioned off for women clients of the firm. She had notintended to risk anything, and so was prepared when Mr. Davies himselfapproached her courteously. Instinctively Constance distrusted him. Hewas too cordial, too polite. She could feel the claws hidden in hisvelvety paw, as it were. There was a debonnaire assurance about him,the air of a man who thought he understood women, and indeed didunderstand a certain type. But to Constance, who was essentially aman's woman, Davies was only revolting.
She managed to talk without committing herself, and he in hiscomplacency was glad to hope that he was making a new customer. She hadto be careful not to betray any of the real and extensive knowledgeabout Wall Street which she actually possessed. But the glibmisrepresentations about United Traction quite amazed her.
When she rose to go, Davies accompanied her to the door, then out intothe hall to the elevator. As he bent over to shake hands, she notedthat he held her hand just a little longer than was necessary.
"He's a swindler of the first water," she concluded as she was whiskeddown in the elevator. "I'm sure Mildred is in badly with this crowd,one urging her on in her trouble, the other making it worse andfleecing her into the bargain."
At the entrance she paused, undecided which was the quickest routehome. As by chance she turned just for a moment she thought she caughta fleeting glimpse of Drummond dodging behind a pillar. It was only foran instant but even that apparition was enough.
"I WILL get her out of this safely," resolved Constance. "I WILL keepone more fly from his web."
Constance felt as if, even now, she must see Mildred and, although sheknew nothing, at least put her on her guard. She did not have long towait for her chance. It was late in the afternoon when her door buzzersounded.
"Constance, I've been looking for you all day," sighed Mildred,dropping sobbing into a chair. "I am--distracted."
"Why, my dear, what's the matter?" asked Constance. "Let me make you acup of coffee."
Over the steaming little cups Mildred grew more calm.
"Forest has found out in some way that I am speculating in WallStreet," she confided at length. "I suppose some of his friends--he haslots down there--told him."
Momentarily the picture of Drummond back of the post in Davies'building flashed over Constance.
"And he is awfully angry. Oh, I never knew him to be so angry--andsarcastic, too."
"Was it wholly over your money?" asked Constance. "Was there nothingelse?"
Mrs. Caswell started. "You grow more weird, every day, Constance.Yes--there was something else."
"Mr. Davies?"
Mildred had risen. "Don't--don't--" she cried.
"Then you do really--care for him!" asked Constance mercilessly.
"No--no, a thousand times--no. How can I? I have put all such thoughtsout of my mind--long ago." She paused, then went on more calmly,"Constance, believe me or not--I am just as good a woman to-day as Iwas the day I married Forest. No--I would not even let the thoughtenter my head--never!"
For perhaps an hour after her friend had gone, Constance sat thinking.What should she do? Something must be done and soon. As she thought,suddenly the truth flashed over her.
Caswell had employed Drummond to shadow his wife in the hope that hemight unearth something that might lead to a divorce. Drummond, like somany divorce detectives, was not averse to guiding events, to put itmildly. He had ingratiated himself, perhaps, with the clairvoyant andDavies. Constance had often heard before of clairvoyants and brokerswho worked in conjunction to fleece the credulous. Now another and moreserious element than the loss of money was involved. Added to them wasa divorce detective--and honor itsel
f was at stake. She remembered thedoped cigarettes. She had heard of them before at clairvoyants'. Shesaw it all--Madame Cassandra playing on Mildred's wounded affections,the broker on both that and her desire to be independent--and Drummondpulling the wires that all might take advantage of her woman's frailty.
That moment Constance determined on action.
First she telephoned to deForest Caswell at his office. It was anunconventional thing to do to ask him to call, but she made someplausible pretext. She was surprised to find that he accepted itwithout hesitating. It set her thinking. Drummond must have told himsomething of her and he had thought this as good a time as any to faceher. In that case Drummond would probably come too. She was prepared.
She had intended to have one last talk with Mildred, but had no need tocall her. Utterly wretched, the poor little woman came in again to seeher as she had done scores of times before, to pour out her heart.Forest had not come home to dinner, had not even taken the trouble totelephone. Constance did not say that she herself was responsible.
"Do you really want to know the truth about your dreams?" askedConstance, after she had prevailed upon Mildred to eat a little.
"I do know," she returned.
"No, you don't," went on Constance, now determined to tell her thetruth whether she liked it or not. "That clairvoyant and Mr. Davies arein league, playing you for a sucker, as they say."
Mrs. Caswell did not reply for a moment. Then she drew a long breathand shut her eyes. "Oh, you don't know how true what she says is to me.She--"
"Listen," interrupted Constance. "Mildred, I'm going to be frank,brutally frank. Madame Cassandra has read your character, not thecharacter as you think it is, but your unconscious, subconscious self.She knows that there is no better way to enter into the intimate lifeof a client, according to the new psychology, than by getting at andanalyzing the dreams. And she knows that you can't go far in dreamanalysis without finding sex. It is one of the strongest naturalimpulses, yet subject to the strongest repression, and hence one of theweakest points of our culture.
"She is actually helping along your alienation for that broker. Youyourself have given me the clue in your dreams. Only I am telling youthe truth about them. She holds it back and tells you plausiblefalsehoods to help her own ends. She is trying to arouse in you thosepassions which you have suppressed, and she has not scrupled to usedrugged cigarettes with you and others to do it. You remember thebreakfast dream, when I said that much could be traced back to dreams?A thing happens. It causes a dream. That in turn sometimes causesaction. No, don't interrupt. Let me finish first.
"Take that first dream," continued Constance, rapidly thrusting homeher interpretation so that it would have its full effect. "You dreamedthat your husband was dying and you were afraid. She said it meant lovewas dead. It did not. The fact is that neurotic fear in a woman has itsorigin in repressed, unsatisfied love, love which for one reason oranother is turned away from its object and has not succeeded in beingapplied. Then his death. That simply means that you have a feeling thatyou might be happier if he were away and didn't devil you. It is asurvival of childhood, when death is synonymous with absence. I knowyou don't believe it. But if you had studied the subject as I have inthe last few days you'd understand. Madame Cassandra understands.
"And the wall. That was Wall Street, probably, which does divide youtwo. You tried to get over it and you fell. That means your fear ofactually falling, morally, of being a fallen woman."
Mildred was staring wildly. She might deny but in her heart she mustadmit.
"The thing that pursued you, half bull, half snake, was Davies and hisblandishments. I have seen him. I know what he is. The crowd in a dreamalways denotes a secret. He is pursuing you, as in the dream. But hehasn't caught you. He thinks there is in you the same wild demimondaineinstinct that with many an ardent woman, slumbers unknown in the backof her mind.
"Whatever you may say, you do think of him. When a woman dreams ofbreakfasting cozily with some one other than her husband it has anobvious meaning. As for the messenger and the message about the UnitedTraction, there, too, was a plain wish, and, as you must see, wishes inone form or another, disguised or distorted, lie at the basis ofdreams. Take the coal fire. That, too, is susceptible ofinterpretation. I think you must have heard the couplet:
"'No coal, no fire so hotly glows As the secret love that no oneknows.'"
Mildred Caswell had risen, an indignant flush on her face.
Constance put her hand on her arm gently to restrain her, knowing thatsuch indignation was the first sign that she had struck at the core oftruth in her interpretation.
"My dear," she urged, "I'm only telling you the truth, for your ownsake, and not to take advantage of you as Madame Cassandra is doing.Please--remember that the best evidence of your normal condition isjust what I find, that absence of love would be abnormal. My dear, youare what the psychologists call a consciously frigid, unconsciouslypassionate woman. Consciously you reject this Davies; unconsciously youaccept him. And it is the more dangerous, although you do not know it,because some one else is watching. It was not one of his friends whotold your husband--"
Mrs. Caswell had paled. "Is--is there a--detective?" she faltered.
Constance nodded.
Mildred had collapsed completely. She was sobbing in a chair, her headbowed in her hands, her little lace handkerchief soaked. "What shall Ido? What shall I do?"
There was a sudden tap at the door.
"Quick--in there," whispered Constance, shoving her through theportieres into the drawing room.
It was Forest Caswell.
For a moment Constance stood irresolute, wondering just how to meethim, then she said, "Good evening, Mr. Caswell. I hope you will pardonme for asking you to call on me, but, as you know, I've come to knowyour wife--perhaps better than you do."
"Not better," he corrected, seeming to see that it was directness thatshe was aiming at. "It is bad enough to get mixed up badly in WallStreet, but what would you yourself say--you are a business woman--whatwould you say about getting into the clutches of a--a dream doctor--andworse?"
He had put Constance on the defensive in a sentence.
"Don't you ever dream?" she asked quietly.
He looked at her a moment as if doubting even her mentality.
"Lord," he exclaimed in disgust, "you, too, defend it?"
"But, don't you dream?" she persisted.
"Why, of course I dream," he answered somewhat petulantly. "What of it?I don't guide my actions by it."
"Do you ever dream of Mildred?" she asked.
"Sometimes," he admitted reluctantly.
"Ever of other--er--people?" she pursued.
"Yes," he replied, "sometimes of other people. But what has that to dowith it? I cannot help my dreams. My conduct I can help and I do help."
Constance had not expected him to be frank to the extent of taking herinto his confidence. Still, she felt that he had told her just enough.She discerned a vague sense of jealousy in his tone which told her morethan words that whatever he might have said or done to Mildred heresented, unconsciously, the manner in which she had striven to gainsympathy outside.
"Fortunately he knows nothing of the new theories," she said to herself.
"Mrs. Dunlap," he resumed, "since you have been frank with me, I mustbe equally frank with you. I think you are far too sensible a woman notto understand in just what a peculiar position my wife has placed me."
He had taken out of his pocket a few sheets of closely typewrittentissue paper. He did not look at them. Evidently he knew the contentsby heart. Constance did not need to be told that this was a sheaf ofthe daily reports of the agency for which Drummond worked.
He paused. She had been watching him searchingly. She was determinednot to let him justify himself first.
"Mr. Caswell," she persisted in a low, earnest tone, "don't be so surethat there is nothing in this dream, business. Before you read me thosereports from Mr. Drummond, let me finish."
Forest Caswell almost dropped them in surprise.
"Dreams," she continued, seeing her advantage, "are wishes, eithersuppressed or expressed. Sometimes the dream is frank and shows anexpressed wish. Other times it shows a suppressed wish, or a wish whichin its fulfilment in the dream is disguised or distorted.
"You are the cause of your wife's dreams. She feels in them anxiety.And, according to the modern psychologists who have studied dreamscarefully and scientifically, fear and anxiety represent love repressedor suppressed."
She paused to emphasize the point, glad to note that he was followingher.
"That clairvoyant," she went on, "has found out the truth. True, it maynot have been the part of wisdom for Mildred to have gone to her in thefirst place. I pass over that. I do not know whether you or she wasmost to blame at the start. But that woman, in the guise of being herfriend, has played on every string of your wife's lonely heart, whichyou have wrung until it vibrates.
"Then," she hastened on, "came your precious friend Drummond, Drummondwho has, no doubt, told you a pack of lies about me. You see that!"
She had flung down on the table a cigarette which she had managed toget at Madame Cassandra's.
"Smoke it."
He lighted it gingerly, took a puff or two, puckered his face, frowned,and rubbed the lighted end on the fireplace to extinguish it.
"What is it?" he asked suspiciously.
"Hashish," she answered tersely. "Things were not going fast enough tosuit either Madame Cassandra or Drummond. Madame Cassandra helped alongthe dreams by a drug noted for its effect on the passions. More thanthat," added Constance, leaning over toward him and catching his eye,"Madame Cassandra was working in league with a broker, as so many ofthe fakers do. Drummond knew it, whether he told you the truth about itor not. That broker was a swindler named Davies."
She was watching the effect on him. She saw that he had been reservingthis for a last shot at her, that he realized she had stolen his ownammunition and appropriated it to herself.
"They were only too glad when Drummond approached them. There you are,three against that poor little woman--no, four, including yourself.Perhaps she was foolish. But it was not so much to her discredit as tothose who cast her adrift when she had a natural right to protection.Here was a woman with passions which she herself did not understand,and a little money--alone. Her case appealed to me. I knew her dreams.I studied them."
Caswell was listening in amazement. "It is dangerous to be with aperson who pays attention to such little things," he said.
Evidently Drummond himself must have been listening. The door buzzersounded and he stepped in, perhaps to bolster up his client in case heshould be weakening.
As he met Constance's eye he smiled superciliously and was about tospeak. But she did not give him time even to say good evening.
"Ask him," she cried, her eyes flashing, for she realized that it hadbeen part of the plan to confront her, perhaps worm out of her justenough to confirm Drummond's own story to Caswell, "ask him to tell thetruth--if he is capable of it--not the truth that will make a gooddaily report of a hired shadow who colors his report the way he thinkshis client desires it, but the real truth."
"Mr. Caswell," interrupted Drummond, "this woman----"
"Mr. Drummond," cried Constance, rising and shaking the burnt stub ofthe little gold-banded cigarette at him to impress it on his mind, "Mr.Drummond, I don't care whether I am a--a she-devil"--she almost hissedthe words at him--"but I have evidence enough to go before the districtattorney of this city and the grand jury and get indictments forconspiracy against a certain clairvoyant and a bucket shop operator. Tosave themselves, they will probably tell all they know about a certaincrook who has been using them."
Caswell looked at her, amazed at her denunciation of the detective. Asfor Drummond, he turned his back on her as if to ignore her utterly.
"Mr. Caswell," he said bitterly, "in those reports--"
"Forest Caswell," insisted Constance, rising and facing him, "if youhave in that heart of yours one shred of manhood it should move you.You--this man--the others--have placed in the path of a woman everyprovocation, every temptation for financial, physical, and moral ruin.She has consulted a clairvoyant--yes. She has speculated--yes. Yet shewas proof against something greater than that. And I know--because Iknow her unconscious self which her dreams reveal, her inmost soul--Iknow her better than you do, better than she does herself. I know thateven now she is as good and true and would be as loving as--"
Constance had paused and taken a step toward the drawing room. Beforeshe knew it, the portieres flew apart and an eager little woman hadrushed past her and flung her arms about the neck of the man.
Caswell's features were working, as he gently disengaged her arms,still keeping one hand. Half shoving her aside, ignoring Constance, hehad faced Drummond. For a moment the brazen detective flinched.
As he did so, deForest Caswell crumpled up the mass of tissue paperreports and flung them into the fireplace.
"Get out!" he said, suppressing his voice with difficulty. "Sendme--your bill. I'll pay it--but, mind, if it is one penny more than itshould be, I'll--I'll fight if it takes me from the district attorneyand the grand jury to the highest court of the State. Now--go!"
Caswell turned slowly again toward his wife.
"I've been a brute," he said simply.
Something almost akin to jealousy rose in Constance's heart as she sawMildred, safe at last.
Then Caswell turned slowly to her. "You," he said, stroking his wife'shand gently but looking at Constance, "you are a REAL clairvoyant."