I impart. They will have two dollars more,
or--yes, they are already disappearing--quick, or you will be too late."

Colonel Witham groaned in anguish; slowly produced a shabby wallet, took
therefrom two greasy dollar bills and passed them across the table to an
outstretched hand.

"Ah, they are coming back," said the voice. "Another moment and it would
have been too late. Now the stars are coming out clearer also. What is
it they tell? Ah, they say--listen--they say the man has concealed
papers that are wanted by you--concealed them _in his place of
business_."

"Yes, yes, but where?" cried Colonel Witham. "In the safe, or around the
machinery--where-abouts?"

"Listen," said the voice. "The spirits seem angry again--"

"Let 'em be angry!" bellowed Colonel Witham. "They'll not get another
cent, confound 'em!"

"Softly, softly," said the voice soothingly, "The spirits are greatly
agitated by loud words. And the stars are growing dim once more. The
spirits want no more money. They will tell you all; that is, all you
need to know. Listen: They say you will find the papers. But you must be
patient. They are hidden in a building where there are wheels turning
rapidly. And the spirits say the noise hurts their ears. They say,
though, that you must wait a little while, and then you will go into the
building and find them. That is all now. You will certainly get them.
The spirits are gone. They will not come back again to-day."

The voice became silent; and Colonel Witham sat sheepishly in his chair.
Then he arose and walked slowly to the doorway. Had he been fooled? He
did not know. It was certainly strange: how the voice had described his
hotel--a big house with a porch--and he looking out--and the other
man--the man that had hidden the papers. No, there was something
remarkable about it all. He would surely get them. Colonel Witham
emerged from the tent.

A chorus of three young voices greeted him:

"Hello, Colonel Witham, been having your fortune told? Tell us what the
witch said, will you, colonel?"

The colonel, gazing at the grinning faces of Tim and Joe Warren and
Allan Harding, flushed purple and raised his cane, wrathfully.

"You little ras--" he began, but bethought himself and halted. "Ho, ho,"
he said, looking half ashamed. "That was only a joke. Just took a
notion to see how funny it was. Here boy, give these lads some peanuts."
The colonel produced a dime from his trousers pocket.

"Say, Tim," said