“Yes,” she answered, slowly, “the first time I was in Old Place, Timmy Tosswill’s dog frightened me out of my wits.”

“That’s very strange,” said the doctor, “Flick’s such a mild-mannered dog.”

Enid Crofton lifted herself up from her reclining position.  “Dr. O’Farrell!  I wouldn’t say so to anyone but you, but don’t you think there’s something uncanny about Timmy Tosswill?  My little maid told me last night that the village people think he’s a kind of—­well, I don’t know what to call it!—­a kind of boy-witch.  She says they’re awfully afraid of him, that they think he can do a mischief to people he doesn’t like.”  As he said nothing for a moment, she added rather defiantly:—­“I daresay you think it is absurd that I should listen to village gossip, but the truth is, I’ve a kind of horror of the child.  He terrifies me!”

Dr. O’Farrell looked round the room as if he feared eavesdroppers.  He even got up and went to see if the door was really shut.  “That’s very curious,” he said thoughtfully.  “Very curious indeed.  But no, I’m not thinking you absurd, Mrs. Crofton.  The child’s a very peculiar child.  Have you ever heard of thought transference?”

She looked at him, astonished.  “No,” she answered, rather bewildered, “I haven’t an idea what you mean by that.”

“Well, you’ve heard of hypnotism?”

“Oh, yes, but I’ve never believed in it!”

To that remark he made no answer, and he went on, more as if speaking to himself than to her:—­“We needn’t consider what the village people say.  Timmy just tries to frighten them—­like all boys he’s fond of his practical joke, and of course it’s a temptation to him to work on their fears.  But the little lad certainly presents a curious natural phenomenon, if I may so express myself.”

She looked at him puzzled.  She had no idea what he meant.

“If that child wasn’t the child of sensible people, he’d have become famous—­he’d be what silly people call a medium.”

“Would he?” she said.  “Do you mean that he can turn tables and do that sort of thing?”

The doctor shook his head.  “What I mean is that in some way as yet unexplained by science, he can create simulacra of what people are thinking about, or of what may simply be hidden far away in the recesses of their memory.  In a sort of way Timmy Tosswill can make things seem to appear which, as a matter of fact, are not there.  But how he does it?  Well, I can’t tell you that.”

Enid Crofton stared at Dr. O’Farrell.  It was as if he were speaking to her in a foreign language, and yet his words made her feel vaguely apprehensive.  Surely Timmy could not divine the hidden thoughts of the people about him?  She grew hot with dismay at the idea.

The doctor bent forward, and looked at her keenly:  “I should like to ask you another question, Mrs. Crofton.  Have you in your past life ever had some very painful association with a dog—­I mean any very peculiar experience with a terrier?”