It was almost noon before Valeska returned from her errand, and, as by this time the palmist's outer office was filled with waiting clients, it was the lunch hour before she could speak to him.
"I shall have to raise my fee again," he said. "Ten dollars a reading doesn't seem to stop them at all. I'll make them come only by appointment after this. But what did you find out?"
The girl's eyes sparkled with news. "Hepson's our man, Hepson via White, I guess. Hepson saw Barrister, too, at the club the other morning. Hepson's gone ; but White—"
"Hepson, Hepson, Hepson!" mimicked the Seer, with a smile at her eagerness. "But pray give us more news about White."
Valeska laughed. "Well, he's awfully sore on Barrister for some reason. He believes Mr. Barrister's a fool, I gather."
"He isn't in love with Mrs. Barrister, is he?"
"No! He's in love with himself, I think. He said, for one thing, that Barrister knew no more about books than he did about poker."
"Poker! How's that?"
"Why, I told him I had sold several copies to members of the Stage Club,—I got their names out of the Blue Book, and knew they played pretty hard there,—so we got to chatting about our luck. You see, I told him I liked to play myself, and he began telling me how successful he always was. Then he said he had hard work with some of his friends to collect the gambling debts they owed him."
"I see." The Master of Mysteries turned into his den, and Valeska followed him.
