d greet Susan. But, as
she attempted to stand up, the light coverlet entangled her feet and
tripped her; she lost her balance, tried with a violent, awkward lurch
of her whole body to recover herself, and stamped rather than stepped
full on the dog's forepaws. He writhed, springing up between her
feet--the whole grotesque catastrophe was, in effect, a single, fatal
gesture!--and Gertrude, throwing her hands instinctively before her
face, fell heavily forward, the length of her body, prone. I saw Susan
rush toward her---- And the psychic reel flickered out, blanked.... I
needed to see no more.

"Don't you agree with me, Mr. Hunt?" Conlon was asking.

"No," I said bluntly. "No madwoman would have summoned a doctor. Miss
Blake called it a terrible accident. It was. Her present state is due to
the horror of it. When she wakes, it will all be explained. Now take me
to her."

Conlon's gray-blue glance fixed me once more. "All right," he grunted,
"I've no objections. But I'd 'a' thought your first wish would 'a' been
to see your wife."

"No," I replied. "Mrs. Hunt separated from me years ago, for reasons of
her own. I bore her no ill will; in a sense, I respected her, admired
her. Understand me, Sergeant Conlon. There was nothing vulgar in her
life, and her death in this stupid way--oh, it's indecent, damnable! A
cheap outrage! I could do nothing for her living, and can do nothing
now. But I prefer to remember her as she was. _She_ would prefer it,
too."

"Come on, then," said Conlon; pretty gruffly, I thought.

He unlocked the door.

III

It was a singular thing, but so convincing had my vision been to me
that I felt no immediate desire to verify the details of its setting by
an examination of Gertrude's boudoir. It had come to me bearing its own
credentials, its own satisfying accent of truth. One question did,
however, fasten upon me, as I followed Conlon's bulky form, down the
hall to Lucette's bedroom. Whence had this vision, this psychic reel
come to me? What was its source? How could the mere fact of
it--clearing, as it did, at least, all perplexities from my own
mind--have occurred? For the moment I could find no answer; the mystery
had happened, had worked, but remained a mystery.

Like most men in this modern world I had taken a vague, mild interest in
psychical research, reading more or less casually, and with customary
suspension of judgment, anything of the sort that came in my way. I had
a bowing a