tery in hopes it
would shed some light on the old ones.

Meanwhile Madame Parlato was absolutely bewildered. Who was this strange
girl who had come flying in with an incredible tale about the new
client being an accomplice of her own?

Nor did that question trouble her so much as the consideration of what
she should do next? She had arranged to have Mr. Crane at a _seance_ the
next evening, and to have Mr. Louis Bartram concealed in an adjoining
room, where he could see and hear without being discovered.

Now, if she failed to use the objects he had directed her to use she
feared his ire and vengeance, while if she did use them, this awful
child, who called herself a detective, threatened exposure!

To be sure, she told herself, that little scrap of humanity couldn't be
a detective, the thought was impossible. Yet the child's words and tones
had carried conviction. Indeed, she was no child, though small enough to
be one. She was either a detective, the Madame finally decided, or, she
was a fake medium herself, and had some unknown ax to grind.

In any case, the way of the transgressor was hard, and the occult lady
thought a long time before she came to a decision.

But the conclusion she reached was to obey the orders of Louis Bartram.
He was a far more formidable antagonist, there must be more real danger
in disobeying him than that chit of a girl.

So Madame laid her plans, prepared her properties, and, with fear in her
heart, arranged for the forthcoming _seance_.

And Zizi, worried and uncertain, in Wise's absence, as to just what she
should do, laid her plans to be present also at Benjamin Crane's next
session with the medium.

And Peter Boots, communing with himself, and rapidly getting more and
more excited at his discoveries and the developments of his theories,
impatiently awaited the hour when he should see his father and perhaps
his mother.

CHAPTER XVII

The Heart Helper

Never during her association with Wise, had Zizi wanted him so much as
she did at present. The situation, she felt, was too big for her to
handle, and the contradictory conclusions forced upon her bewildered
her.

Public interest in the Blair murder had waned, or at least it was
waiting for the trial of McClellan Thorpe, and while the police were
ready to listen to any new evidence or theories, none seemed to be
forthcoming.

Julie was in despair, feeling that the great Pennington Wise was making
no headway in his