“Remember you must get the place from the other applicants.”

“If my mediumship hasn’t taught me enough to git me a plain job, it hasn’t taught me nothin’,” responded Rosalie.

“Then it’s as good as done,” answered the young man.  “Shall I pay you now or later?  Mrs. Markham’s salary will be your tip.”

“It’s a good paymaster that pays when the job’s got,” answered Rosalie.  Her sitter rose, as though to go.

“Confidences is like love,” said Rosalie, “first sight or not for ten years.  Here I’ve opened my whole bag of tricks, and yours is locked tight.  Don’t you think you might tell me your name?”

The young man reached for a card.

“Dr. Blake,” he said as he fumbled.

“Walter Huntington Blake, Curfew Club,” corrected Rosalie.

His hands dropped, and he stared.

“How—­how—­”

“Spirits—­my kind.”  Rosalie extended her hand.  In it rested his little card case.  “Excuse me.  I done it just to show you I wasn’t quite a darn fool, if I do tell everything I know to a stranger.  Now don’t get silly an’ think from this marvelous demonstration that I’ve been givin’ you a con talk.  It’s just a lesson not to take your card case along when you visit a medium.  It’s a proof that I can expose Mrs. Markham if there ’s anything to expose.  Good-by Dr. Blake, and good luck.”

[Illustration:  “THEN IT’S AS GOOD AS DONE”]

The following Wednesday, at eight o’clock in the morning, a messenger boy woke Mme. Le Grange by prolonged knocking.  He passed in this note: 

    Answer early the third advertisement, third column, sixth page, in
    the Herald Help Wanted column.  From the address, I know it is
    Mrs. M.’s.

    W.H.  BLAKE.

VII

ROSALIE’S FIRST REPORT

Rosalie Le Grange, upon assuming her position as housekeeper in the Markham establishment, had written Dr. Blake that Tuesday was her afternoon out, and suggesting that he meet her every Tuesday afternoon at three in the ladies’ parlor of the old Hotel Greenwich, which lay far from main lines of traffic and observation.  So they sat on the faded velvets of the Greenwich that fall afternoon, heads together in close conference.

“You’re wastin’ your money,” began Rosalie.

“Tell me about Miss Markham first,” he interrupted; “is she well?”

“As well as she ever is—­that girl’s far from strong.  The more I think of this job”—­she reverted to her subject—­“the more meechin’ I feel about it, spyin’ on a good woman an’ a great medium like her.  Git the girl away from her!  Let me tell you, Dr. Blake, your girl’s the luckiest girl in the world, and I don’t care if I have to say it right into your face.  If I’d had a chance to develop my mediumship straight from a great vessel of the spirit like that, I wouldn’t be fakin’ test books, and robbin’ card cases, and givin’ demonstrations to store girls at a dollar a trance.  To learn from Mrs. Markham!  She ought to thank God for the chance.”