Mr. Indiman smiled. "Let me confess," he said. "You recall the
abnormal tension of your nerves as you sat waiting in my reception-
room. Merely the effect produced by a mixture of certain chemical
gases turned on from a tap under my hand. Then the crash of a
brazen gong; it is what the scientists call 'massive stimulation,'
resolving super-excitation into partial hypnosis.

"Once I had you in the hypnotic condition, the rest was simple
enough. I had only to suggest to your mind the three objects on the
table, and you saw them. The bank-note, the revolver--they were as
immaterial as the gardenia that no longer adorns your button-hole.

"I did not attempt to influence your choice among the three, as
that would have destroyed the value of the test to me. But, as I
had hoped, you accepted my invitation to dinner. Frankly, now, I am
curious--why?"

"That is very simple," I answered. "I had not eaten anything for
two days, and I detected the odor of that exquisite filet. Not the
slightest ethical significance in the choice, as you see."

Esper Indiman laughed. "I should have kept my pantry door closed.
But it does not matter; I am satisfied. Shall we go into the
library for coffee?"

Directly opposite the door of the latter apartment stood an easel
holding an unframed canvas. A remarkable portrait--little as I know
about pictures, I could see that clearly enough. A three-quarter
length of a woman wearing a ducal coronet and dressed in a