“One of them kind that lays out the cards, and spells out your fortune, eh?”

“I dunno.  I never was in her den.”

“Wonder if she could give me a luck charm?” asked Sam.

“If you’ve got the dust, she can make you anything.  Them as lives around here says she’s a witch.  Maybe so.  I think she’s some cursed half-breed, myself.  None too good now, I tell you.”

“Lived here long?”

“Who?  Me?”

“No, the woman.”

“I’ve been here five years, and she was here before me.”

“I suppose she has plenty of customers, eh?”

“You bet she has.  The fool-killer ought to lay around here for a while.  There were two dandy blokes come out of there this morning.”

Sam started, and inwardly cursed his stupidity in letting his game get away from him.  The two men of which the bar-keeper spoke, were probably the very persons he wanted, so, in an indifferent tone, he inquired: 

“What’s her office hours?”

“Any time night or day I reckon.  The two swells came out about 10, I guess.  Maybe later.”

“She don’t throw on much style?”

“Don’t she though.  Silks ain’t nothin’ to her.  She’s a clipper when she agonizes.”

Fearing, if he kept up the conversation much longer, that the bar-keeper would suspect his game, Sam called for another cigar, and picking up a deck of cards which lay on the table, suggested a game of “seven up.”  The bar-keeper seated himself with his back to the window, Sam still holding his post of survey.

The game was only just begun, when the fortune-teller, carrying a small bottle, apparently of medicine, returned and entered the door.

Sam’s interest in the game died out shortly after, and patrons beginning to appear, the bar-keeper took his accustomed place behind the bar.

The room gradually filled up, and taking advantage of a little crowd near the door, Sam quietly slipped through the door and walked straight across to the fortune-teller’s house.

As he entered, the inner door was opened and the dark woman herself appeared.

With inimitable assurance the detective removed his hat and advanced toward her.

Drawing herself up to her full height, the sibyl in a deep, solemn voice said: 

“What brings you here?”

“I’m in hard luck.  Got scooped up to the White Elephant and want you to give me a luck charm.”

The eyes of the hag glittered greedily as Sam held out a five-dollar bill, and throwing the door wide open she bade him enter.

As Sam did so his experienced eye took in the whole room, the skull, charts, bottles and even the cards did not escape his gaze.

Nance pushed forward a chair, and telling him under pain of breaking the spell not to utter a word, she retired behind the curtain.