“A convert to what?”

“To Hinduism—­to the worship of Siva.”

“That is the cult to which Francisco Silva belongs?”

“Yes; he is a White Priest of Siva.”

“And this change in your father has been since the coming of this man?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know anything of him?”

“Only that he is a very wonderful man.”

“You know nothing of his past?”

“No.”

“Did your father wish you to become a convert?”

“Yes, he desired it deeply.”

“A priestess of Siva, I believe it is called?”

“Yes.”

“And the yogi also desired it?”

“He believed it would be a great destiny.  But he urged it only for my father’s sake.”

“So you determined to appeal to Mr. Swain?”

The colour deepened in her cheeks again.

“I decided to ask his advice,” she said.

“Please tell us what happened that evening.”

“Mr. Swain met me at the arbour in the corner of the grounds, as I had asked him to, and convinced me that my father’s mind had given way under his long study of the occult.  We decided that he should be placed in a sanitarium where he could have proper attention, and Mr. Swain was to make the necessary arrangements.  All I would have to do would be to sign some papers.  We were just saying good-night, when my father appeared at the entrance of the arbour.”

“This was about midnight, was it not?”

“Yes.”

“Why did you choose that hour for the meeting?”

“Because at that hour my father and the yogi were always engaged in invoking an astral benediction.”

Even I, who knew the significance of the words, paused a little at them.  The doctor and Goldberger were hopelessly at sea.  After all, the words were a very good description of the weird ceremony.

“Well,” I said, “and after your father appeared, what happened?”

“He was very excited and spoke to Mr. Swain in a most violent manner.  Mr. Swain attempted to take me away from him, not knowing, at first, who it was had seized me; but I pushed him back and led my father away toward the house.”

“Did Mr. Swain touch your father?”

“No; I was between them all the time.  I was determined that they should not touch each other.  I was afraid, if they came together, that something terrible would happen.”

Goldberger glanced at me.

“Something terrible to your father?” he asked.

“Oh, no,” she answered, quickly; “Mr. Swain would not have harmed my father, but father did not know what he was doing and might have harmed Mr. Swain.”

It was my turn to look at Goldberger.

“After you left the arbour,” I asked, “did you see Mr. Swain again?”

“No, I did not see him again.”

“You went straight to the house?”

“Yes; father was still very violent.  He had forbidden me to see Mr. Swain or to write to him.  He had taken a violent dislike to him.”