Out came his big brown note-book.

"Is your own will so strong, then?"

I must be carefully on my guard. "Agatha," said I seriously, "would you mind telling me exactly what you have done this morning?" It was all misty and strange and unnatural. And Agatha! I am amazed, confounded. A crutch leaning against the wall told me what was painfully evident when she rose: that one of her legs was crippled. She tells me that I am looking pale and worried and ill. But her soul! I was watching Agatha narrowly. God grant that he may be able to advise me! I keep full notes of each sitting.

"The brandy!" she gasped. "The brandy!"

At the sixth there was a momentary rigor. Three quiet days. Then I snatched the photograph from her hand and tore it into a hundred pieces.