“Will they really kill her?” he asked again.

Still there was silence, and Bosio held his breath.  Then Giuditta spoke hoarsely.

“The spirit is gone,” she said.  “He will not answer any more questions to-day.”

“Can you not call it back?” asked Bosio, anxiously, and peering into the blackness before him, as though hoping to see something.

“No.  When he is gone he never comes back for the same person.  He answered you many things, Signore.  You must have patience.”

He heard her rise, and a moment later the light dazzled him as he looked up and met her china blue eyes.  He was dazed as well as dazzled, for there had been an extraordinary directness and accuracy about the few questions and answers he had heard in the clear voice which was so utterly unlike Giuditta’s, though quite human and natural.  He was certain that he had not heard the door open after she had drawn the curtains.  He looked about the scantily furnished room, in search of some corner in which some third person might have been hidden.  Giuditta Astarita’s chronic smile was momentarily intensified.

“There was no one else here,” she said, answering his unspoken question.  “You heard the spirit’s voice through my ears.”

“How can that be?”

“I do not know.  But what the spirit says is true.  You may rely upon it.  I do not know what it said, for when I return from the trance state I remember nothing I have heard or seen while I have been in it.  If you wish to ask more, you must have the kindness to come again.  It is very fatiguing to me.  You can see that I am not in good health.  The hours are from ten till three.”

The smile had subsided within its usual limits, and the china blue eyes stared coldly.  She was evidently waiting to be paid.

“What do I owe you?” asked Bosio, with a certain considerateness of tone, so to say.

“It is twenty-five lire,” answered Giuditta Astarita.  “I have but one price.  Thank you,” she added, as he laid the notes upon the polished walnut table.  “Do you wish a few of my cards?  For your friends, perhaps.  I shall be grateful for your patronage.”

“Thank you,” said Bosio, taking his hat and going towards the door.  “I have one of your cards.  It is enough.  Good morning.”

As he opened the door, he found the one-eyed serving-woman in the passage, ready to show him out.  Instinctively he looked at the single eye as he glanced at her face, and he was surprised to notice that it was of the same uncommon china blue colour as Giuditta’s own.  The woman who did duty as a servant to admit visitors was undoubtedly Giuditta’s mother or elder sister, or some very near relative.  It would be natural enough, amongst such people, as Bosio knew, but he wondered how many more of the same family lived in the rooms beyond the one in which he had received spirit-communications, and whether Giuditta Astarita supported them all by her extraordinary talents.