don't know what there is about him that frightens me. Even now I feel his
eyes fixed strangely upon me. I hope I shall never see him again.'

Arthur gave a little laugh and pressed her hand. She would not let his
go, and he felt that she was trembling. Personally, he had no doubt about
the matter. He would have no trifling with credibility. Either Haddo
believed things that none but a lunatic could, or else he was a charlatan
who sought to attract attention by his extravagances. In any case he was
contemptible. It was certain, at all events, that neither he nor anyone
else could work miracles.

'I'll tell you what I'll do,' said Arthur. 'If he really knows Frank
Hurrell I'll find out all about him. I'll drop a note to Hurrell tonight
and ask him to tell me anything he can.'

'I wish you would,' answered Susie, 'because he interests me enormously.
There's no place like Paris for meeting queer folk. Sooner or later you
run across persons who believe in everything. There's no form of
religion, there's no eccentricity or enormity, that hasn't its votaries.
Just think what a privilege it is to come upon a man in the twentieth
century who honestly believes in the occult.'

'Since I have been occupied with these matters, I have come across
strange people,' said Dr Porhoët quietly, 'but I agree with Miss Boyd
that Oliver Haddo is the most extraordinary. For one thing, it is
impossible to know how much he really believes what he says. Is he an
impostor or a madman? Does he deceive himself, or is he laughing up his
sleeve at the folly of those who take him seriously? I cannot tell. All
I know is that he has travelled widely and is acquainted with many
tongues. He has a minute knowledge of alchemical literature, and there