But a public street, Strange explained, was no place for psychic discussions.  If Dave cared to come to his room, where the surroundings were favorable to thought transference, and where Phil’s spirit control could have a chance to make itself felt, they would interrogate the “Unseen Forces” further.  Dave agreed.  When they were alone in the fortune-telling “parlor,” he sat back while the medium closed his eyes and prepared to explore the Invisible.  After a brief delay Phil began: 

“I see a great many things—­that woman I told you about, and three men.  One of ’em is you, the other two is Mexicans.  You’re at a water-hole in the mesquite.  Now there’s a shooting scrape; I see the body of a dead man.”  The speaker became silent; evidently his cataleptic vision was far from perfect.  But he soon began to drone again.  “Now I behold a stranger at the same water-hole.  He’s alone—­he’s looking for something.  He rides in circles.  He’s off his horse and bending over—­What?  A skeleton!  Yes, it’s the skeleton of one of them other Mexicans.”  Strange’s voice became positively sepulchral as his spirit control took fuller possession of his earthly shell and as his visions resolved themselves into clearer outline.  “See!  He swears an oath to avenge.  And now—­the scene changes.  Everything dissolves.  I’m in a mansion; and the red-haired woman comes toward me.  Over her head floats that skeleton—­”

Dave broke in crisply.  “All right!  Let’s get down to cases.  What’s on your mind, Strange?”

The psychic simulated a shudder—­a painful contortion, such as any one might suffer if rudely jerked out of the spirit world.

“Eh?  What was I—?  There!  You’ve broke the connection,” he declared.  “Did I tell you anything?”

“No.  But evidently you can.”

“I’m sorry.  They never come back.”

“Rot!”

Phil was hurt, indignant.  With some stiffness he explained the danger of interrupting a seance of this sort, but Law remained obdurate.

“You can put over that second-sight stuff with the Greasers,” he declared, sharply, “but not with me.  So, Jose Sanchez has been to see you and you want to warn me.  Is that it?”

“I don’t know any such party,” Strange protested.  He eyed his caller for a moment; then with an abrupt change of manner he complained:  “Say, Bo!  What’s the matter with you?  I’ve got a reputation to protect, and I do things my own way.  I’m getting set to slip you something, and you try to make me look like a sucker.  Is that any way to act?”

“I prefer to talk to you when your eyes are open.  I know all about—­”

“You don’t know nothing about anything,” snapped the other.  “Jose’s got it in for Mrs. Austin.”

“You said you didn’t know him.”

“Well, I don’t.  He’s never been to see me in his life, but—­his sweetheart has.  Rosa Morales comes regular.”

“Rosa!  Jose’s sweetheart!”